My life is like a music-hall,Where, in the impotence of rage,Chained by enchantment to my stall,I see myself upon the stageDance to… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
“Wandering, ever wandering, Because life holds not anything so good As to be free of yesterday, and bound Towards a new to-morrow… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
To have loved, to have been made happy thus, / What better fate has life in store for us? — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
My life is like a music-hall,Where, in the impotence of rage,Chained by enchantment to my stall,I see myself upon the stageDance to amuse a… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises, The earth renews its magical youth at a breath. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Without charm there can be no fine literature, as there can be no perfect flower without fragrance. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
I know the woman has no soul, I know The woman has no possibilities Of soul or mind or heart, but merely is The… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
God, like all highest things, Hides light in shade, And in the night his visitings To sleep and dreams are clearliest made. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Hardly any one is able to see what is before him, just as it is in itself. He comes expecting one thing, he finds… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
