“How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!”

“A thousand for his love expired each day,And those who saw his face, in blank dismayWould rave and grieve and mourn their lives away-To die for love of that bewitching sightWas worth a hundred lives without his light.None could survive his absence patiently,None could endure this king's proximity-How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!”

“And it is strange that absence can feel like presence.”

“Loss isn't an absence after all. It is a presence. A strong presence right next to me. I look at it. It doesn't look like anything, that's what is so strange. It just fits in.”

“But it is a strange experience, to a man of pride and sensibility, to know that his interests are within the control of individuals who neither love nor understand him”

“For a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.”