“Do you remember Italy?”

“Italy and London are the only places where I don't feel to exist on sufferance.”

“Let her go to Italy!" he cried. "Let her meddle with what she doesn't understand! ”

“One doesn't come to Italy for niceness," was the retort; "one comes for life. Buon giorno! Buon giorno!”

“No, mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a crisis for her.” He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there was something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of this vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths.”

“What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought--Haven't we all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some place--some beloved place or tree--we thought you one of these.”

“When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else.”