Yes, he cried, "you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my curiosity. You simply produ
ce no effect. I loved you because you were marvelous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realize the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. I will never mention your name. You don't know what you were to me, once. Why, once . . . Oh, I can't bear to think of it! I wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of my life. How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art! Without your art you are nothing."
