George Sylvester Viereck

“ A man's soul, like the chameleon, takes colour from its environment. Even comparative trifles, the number of the house in which we live, or the colour of the wallpaper of a room, may determine a destiny.
The boy's eyes were again surveying the fantastic surroundings in which he found himself; while, from a corner, Clarke's eyes were watching his every movement, as if to follow his thoughts into the innermost labyrinth of the mind. It seemed to Ernest, under the spell of this passing fancy, as though each vase, each picture, each curio in the room, was reflected in Clarke's work. ”

“ At last Clarke broke the silence. “You like my studio?” he asked. The simple question brought Ernest back to reality.
“Like it? Why, it's stunning. It set up in me the queerest train of thought.”
“I, too, have been in a whimsical mood tonight. Fancy, unlike genius, is an infectious disease.” ”

“ Clarke exclaimed, with seeming surprise.
“It is said tritely but truly, that great minds travel the same roads,” Ernest observed, inwardly pleased.
“No,” the older man subtly remarked, “but they reach the same conclusion by a different route.”
“And you attach serious importance to our fancy?”
“Why not?”
Clarke was gazing abstractedly at the bust of Balzac. “A man's genius is commensurate with his ability of absorbing from life the elements essential to his artistic completion. Balzac possessed this power in a remarkable degree. But, strange to say, it was evil that attracted him most. ”