Collecting at its best is very far from mere acquisitiveness; it may become one of the most humanistic of occupations, seeking to illustrate by the assembling of significant reliques, the march of the human spirit in its quest for beauty.
Love is the simplest of all earthly things. It needs no grandeur of celestial trust In more than what it is, no holy wings: It stands with honest feet in honest dust, And is the body's blossoming in clear air Of trustfulness and joyance when alone Two mortals pass beyond the hour's despair And claim that Paradise which is their own. Amid a universe of sweat and blood, Beyond the glooms of all the nations' hate, Lovers, forgetful of the poisoned mood Of the loud world, in secret ere too late A gentle sacrament may celebrate Before their private altar of the good.
A man must learn to forgive himself.
Secret Instructions for Reaching Xanadu: Go eastward from the Bewildered-Dragon Lake Until you see the Monastery of the West Tower straight and high above your head. Then take Those charms which, as I told you, in the breast Of your most inner robe you have hidden, and follow Their clear instruction.
The collector attempts always to acquire the best, and his knowledge of what is best is always widening. His is the task of judging between degrees of perfection.
