He sat completely still, altogether unseen, in his lofty place and looked inside himself.
For, one person loves and honors another only as long as he is unable to assess him, and yearning is a result of a lack of knowledge.
He was more beautiful than words can say, and Aschenbach felt painfully, as he had often done, that words are able to praise physical beauty but not to reproduce it.
He too had served, he too had been a soldier and warrior, like many of them—for art was a war, an exhausting struggle, which people nowadays were unable to keep up for very long.
After all, we are only as old as our mind and heart feel, and in certain circumstances gray hair can be a greater untruth than the correction of it,
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