Very Early, I Knew That

Only The Dreamer Shall Understand Realities, Though In Truth His Dreaming Must Be Not Out Of Proportion To His Waking.

What A Difference It Makes To Come Home To A Child!

Who Can Ever Be Alone For A Moment In Italy? Every Stone Has A Voice, Every Grain Of Dust Seems Instinct With Spirit From The Past, Every Step Recalls Some Line, Some Legend Of Long-neglected Lore.

Tremble Not Before The Free Man, But Before The Slave Who Has Chains To Break.

Everywhere The Fatal Spirit Of Imitation, Of Reference To European Standards, Penetrates And Threatens To Blight Whatever Of Original Growth Might Adorn The Soil.