Writing Is Busy Idleness.

It Is With Art As With Love: How Can A Man Of The World,with All His Distractions, Keep The Inwardness Which An Artist Must Possess If He Hopes To Attain Perfection? That Inwardness Which The Spectator Must Share If He Is To Understand The Work As The Artist Wishes And Hopes... Believe Me, Talents Are Like Virtues; Either You Must Love Them For Their Own Sake Or Renounce Them Altogether. And They Are Only Recognized And Rewarded When We Have Practised Them In Secret, Like A Dangerous Mystery."

Live Dangerously And You Live Right.

What Man Does Not Know, Or Has Not Thought Of, Wanders In The Night Through The Labyrinth Of The Mind.

Two Souls, Alas, Are Housed Within My Breast, And Each Will Wrestle For The Mastery There.

The Heights Charm Us, But The Steps Do Not; With The Mountain In Our View We Love To Walk The Plains.