“the mystic sunset flaming beyond the antient Baptist steeple, the narrow colonial hill streets with their fanlights & double rows of steps, & the great outspread sea of roofs & domes & spires leading off to the purple western hills as glimpsed from old Prospect Terrace? Zeus! the charm & mystery of the violet early evening, when the lights of the ancient city below began to twinkle forth one by one! […] Why, Sir, modernity cannot exist for one who has really gazed upon the elder world!”

“the sunset, seen beyond the mystical spires and domes of the lower town from Prospect Terrace, always fill[s] me with a curious sensation of opening gates and about-to-be-revealed wonders”

“What I want [is] a seclusion amidst ancient scenes wherein I may cast off the actual modern world in a quiet round of reading, writing, & pilgrimages to quaint & historick places. I want to dream in an atmosphere of my childhood — to sit on Prospect Terrace with an old book or a pad & pencil in my hands.”