Without charm there can be no fine literature, as there can be no perfect flower without fragrance. Arthur Symons More Quotes by Arthur Symons More Quotes From Arthur Symons A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him. Arthur Symons venice realist saws As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain. Arthur Symons crush brain love I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found. Arthur Symons venice dream impossible The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises, The earth renews its magical youth at a breath. Arthur Symons earth noise spring Vaguely conscious of that great suspense in which we live, we find our escape from its sterile, annihilating reality in many dreams, in religion, passion, art. Arthur Symons passion dream art To have loved, to have been made happy thus, / What better fate has life in store for us? Arthur Symons fate made love The English mist is always at work like a subtle painter, and London is a vast canvas prepared for the mist to work on. Arthur Symons mist canvas london Criticism is properly the rod of divination: a hazel switch for the discovery of buried treasure, not a birch twig for the castigation of offenders. Arthur Symons treasure criticism discovery Life is a dream in the night, a fear among fears, A naked runner lost in a storm of spears. Arthur Symons dream night life Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me. Arthur Symons lonely loneliness sea He knew that the whole mystery of beauty can never be comprehended by the crowd, and that while clearness is a virtue of style, perfect explicitness is not a necessary virtue. Arthur Symons style perfect beauty Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived. Arthur Symons wish men art There is not a dream which may not come true, if we have the energy which makes, or chooses, our own fate.... It is only the dreams of those light sleepers who dream faintly that do not come true. Arthur Symons fate light dream Love is a flaming heart, and its flames aspire / Till they cloud the soul in the smoke of a windy fire. Arthur Symons fire heart love There are certain natures to whom work is nothing, the act of work everything. Arthur Symons certain work The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world. Arthur Symons mystic speak world Night, a more perfect day. Arthur Symons perfect-days perfect night And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend! Arthur Symons stoops ends love My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring. Arthur Symons cloudy opal soul A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers; and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation. Arthur Symons stranger secret travel
