A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.
Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.
It is the belief and not the god that counts.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.
I was the world in which I walked.
Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
It is never the thing but the version of the thing.
I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.
Disillusion is the last illusion.
Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into.
The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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