I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
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.
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
Hammer your thoughts into unity.
Myself I must remake.
And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.
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.
Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
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.
Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
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.
The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
When all is said and done, how do we know but that our own unreason may be better than another's truth? for it has been warmed on our hearths and in our souls, and is ready for the wild bees of truth to hive in it, and make their sweet honey.
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.
Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
Love comes in at the eye.
In dreams begins responsibility.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And river and stream work out their will.
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.
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
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