The Passion For Fact In A Raw

All Dramatic Realism Is Somewhat Sadistic; An Audience Is Persuaded To Watch Something That Makes It Uncomfortable And From Which No Relief Is Offered - No Laughter, No Tears, No Purgation.

Venice Is The Worlds Unconscious: A Misers Glittering Hoard, Guarded By A Beast Whose Eyes Are Made Of White Agate, And By A Saint Who Is Really A Prince Who Has Just Slain A Dragon.

This Is The Spirit Of The Enchantment Under Which Venice Lies, Pearly And Roseate, Like The Sleeping Beauty, Changeless Throughout The Centuries, Arrested, While The Concrete Forest Of The Modern World Grows Up Around Her.

When An American Heiress Wants To Buy A Man, She At Once Crosses The Atlantic. The Only Really Materialistic People I Have Ever Met Have Been Europeans.

The Perennial Wonder Of Venice Is To Peer At Herself In Her Canals And Find That She Exists-incredible As It Seems. It Is The Same Reassurance That A Looking-glass Offers Us: The Guarantee That We Are Real.