I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.
My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!
Life is a quest and love a quarrel
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Life must go on; I forget just why.
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.
It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.
Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
The soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through.
You are loved. If so, what else matters?
Now the autumn shudders In the rose's root. Far and wide the ladders Lean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambers Up the trellised frame, And the rose remembers The dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossom On the rose's bough Sits the wizened orange, Bitter berry now; Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I'll not be knowing, Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take, No matter where it's going.
Beauty is whatever gives joy.
Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.
I love humanity but I hate people.
This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.
Stranger, pause and look; From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!
Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.
The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
What should I be but just what I am?
They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning, but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.
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