Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
Only the dead can be forgiven; But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.
One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
Any fool can fight a winning battle, but it needs character to fight a losing one, and that should inspire us; which reminds me that I dreamed the other night that I was being hanged, but was the life and soul of the party.
I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right.
Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.
Hammer your thoughts into unity.
Myself I must remake.
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
I always think a great speaker convinces us not by force of reasoning, but because he is visibly enjoying the beliefs he wants us to accept.
Literature is always personal, always one man's vision of the world, one man's experience, and it can only be popular when men are ready to welcome the visions of others.
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.
Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
Love comes in at the eye.
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
In dreams begins responsibility.
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