Arthur Symons

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.

A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him.

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.

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