I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Till Human voices wake us, and we drown.
Survival is your strength not your shame.
To be master or servant within an hour, this is the course of temporal power.
All time is unreedemable.
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
We returned to our palaces, these Kingdoms, but no longer at ease here in the old dispensation, with an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death.
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
It's not wise to violate the rules until you know how to observe them.
The poet's mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.
Not fare well, but fare forward.
Two people who know they do not understand each other, breeding children whom they do not understand and who will never understand them.
An editor should tell the author his writing is better than it is. Not a lot better, a little better.
It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.
Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information? The cycles of heaven in twenty centuries have bought us farther from God and nearer to the dust.
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
Each day a raid on the inarticulate.
Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.
All cases are unique, and very similar to others.