Not The Fruit Of Experience, But Experience

Not To Discriminate Every Moment Some Passionate Attitude In Those About Us, And In The Very Brilliancy Of Their Gifts Some Tragic Dividing Of Forces On Their Ways, Is, On This Short Day Of Frost And Sun, To Sleep Before Evening. With This Sense Of The Splendour Of Our Experience And Of Its Awful Brevity, Gathering All We Are Into One Desperate Effort To See And Touch, We Shall Hardly Have Time To Make Theories About The Things We See And Touch.

Many Attempts Have Been Made By Writers On Art And Poetry To Define Beauty In The Abstract, To Express It In The Most General Terms, To Find Some Universal Formula For It.

To Know When One's Self Is Interested, Is The First Condition Of Interesting Other People.

Books Are A Refuge, A Sort Of Cloistral Refuge, From The Vulgarities Of The Actual World.

All Art Constantly Aspires Towards The Condition Of Music.