My father used to say, "Superior people never make long visits, have to be shown Longfellows grave, or the glass flowers at Harvard."
Hindered characters / seldom have mothers / in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.
We don't like flowers that do not wilt; they must die, and nine she-camel hairs aid memory.
Men are monopolists of "stars, garters, buttons and other shining baubles"- unfit to be the guardians of another person's happiness.
If we can't be cordial to these creatures' fleece, I think that we deserve to freeze.
It is in general true that in order to create works of art one has to have leisure. On the other hand I think that one needs to experience resistance in a practical sense, and even that which is poignant to bring out what makes easy reading for others. Too much deprivation of course, means death.
Honesty - however dangerous - should be as valuable as radium it seems to me.
There never was a war that was not inward.
Does it follow that because there are poisonous toadstools which resemble mushrooms, both are dangerous?
The self does not realize itself most fully when self-realization is its most constant aim.
Among animals, one has a sense of humor. Humor saves a few steps, it saves years.
What I write could only be called poetry because there is no other category to put it.
The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."
There is no pleasure subtler than the sensation of being a good workman; and in work there is the sense of consanguinity-unconscious as a rule but sometimes conscious.
I, too, dislike it. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it, after all, a place for the genuine.
Poetry is all nouns and verbs.
At all events there is in Brooklyn something that makes me feel at home.
The weak overcomes its/ menace, the strong over-/comes itself.
I am hard to disgust, but a pretentious poet can do it
Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral; he could handle any missile.
Yule—Yul log for the Christmas-fire tale-spinner—of fairy tales that can come true: Yul Brynner.
If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.
Truly as the sun can rot or mend, love can make one bestial or make a beast a man.
A man is a writer if all his words are strung in definite sentence sounds.
he who gives quickly gives twice / in nothing so much as in a letter.
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