“There is an unknown land full of strange flowers and subtle perfumes, a land of which it is joy of all joys to dream, a land where all things are perfect and poisonous.”

“There was something terribly enthralling in the exercise of influence. No other activity was like it. To project one's soul into some gracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment; to hear one's own intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and youth; to convey one's temperament into another as though it were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in that--perhaps the most satisfying joy left to us in an age so limited and vulgar as our own, an age grossly carnal in its pleasures, and grossly common in its aims....”

“A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when Humanity lands there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail. Progress is the realisation of Utopias.”

“A flower blossoms for its own joy.”

“Thou knowest all; I seek in vainWhat lands to till or sow with seed -The land is black with briar and weed,Nor cares for falling tears or rain.Thou knowest all; I sit and waitWith blinded eyes and hands that fail,Till the last lifting of the veilAnd the first opening of the gate.Thou knowest all; I cannot see.I trust I shall not live in vain,I know that we shall meet againIn some divine eternity.”

“And when wind and winter hardenAll the loveless land,It will whisper of the garden,You will understand.”

“What is beautiful is a joy for all seasons and a possession for all eternity.”