In Every Case The Storyteller Is A

No Poem Is Intended For The Reader, No Picture For The Beholder, No Symphony For The Listener.

Not To Find One's Way Around A City Does Not Mean Much. But To Lose One's Way In A City, As One Loses One's Way In A Forest, Requires Some Schooling. Street Names Must Speak To The Urban Wanderer Like The Snapping Of Dry Twigs, And Little Streets In The Heart Of The City Must Reflect The Times Of Day, For Him, As Clearly As A Mountain Valley. This Art I Acquired Rather Late In Life; It Fulfilled A Dream, Of Which The First Traces Were Labyrinths On The Blotting Papers In My School Notebooks.

The Only Way Of Knowing A Person Is To Love Them Without Hope.

The Idea That Happiness Could Have A Share In Beauty Would Be Too Much Of A Good Thing.

Our Image Of Happiness Is Indissolubly Bound Up With The Image Of The Past.