The Loss Of Our Illusions Is The

Flowers Belong To Fairyland: The Flowers And The Birds And The Butterflies Are All That The World Has Kept Of Its Golden Age--the Only Perfectly Beautiful Things On Earth--joyous, Innocent, Half Divine--useless, Say They Who Are Wiser Than God.

For What Is The Gift Of The Poet And The Artist Except To See The Sights Which Others Cannot See And To Hear The Sounds That Others Cannot Hear?

Love, The One Supreme, Unceasing Source Of Human Felicity, The One Sole Joy Which Lifts The Whole Mortal Existence Into The Empyrean, Was By It [christianity] Degraded Into The Mere Mechanical Action Of Reproduction.

Women Hope That The Dead Love May Revive; But Men Know That Of All Dead Things None Are So Past Recall As A Dead Passion.

If All Feeling For Grace And Beauty Were Not Extinguished In The Mass Of Mankind At The Actual Moment, Such A Method Of Locomotion As Cycling Could Never Have Found Acceptance; No Man Or Woman With The Slightest Aesthetic Sense Could Assume The Ludicrous Position Necessary For It.