In Rome it seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the world than pictures.

Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.

It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.

O Rome! my country! city of the soul!

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls--the World.

I sometimes fancy," said Hilda, on whose susceptibility the scene always made a strong impression, "that Rome--mere Rome--will crowd everything else out of my heart.