The majority of poems one outgrows and outlives, as one outgrows and outlives the majority of human passions.
Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-
In my beginning is my end.
If all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable
For you know only a heap of broken images
Tradition: how the vitality of the past enriches the life of the present.
The soul of Man must quicken to creation.
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.
It is not necessarily those lands which are the most fertile or most favored in climate that seem to me the happiest, but those in which a long struggle of adaptation between man and his environment has brought out the best qualities of both.
So I find words I never thought to speak In streets I never thought I should revisit When I left my body on a distant shore.
Men have left GOD not for other gods, they say, but for no God; and this has never happened before.
Envy is everywhere. Who is without envy? And most people Are unaware or unashamed of being envious.
After such knowledge, what forgiveness?
Neither way is better. / Both ways are necessary. / It is also necessary / To make a choice between them.
No artist produces great art by a deliberate attempt to express his own personality.
time past and time future what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present.
A play should give you something to think about. When I see a play and understand it the first time, then I know it can't be much good.
Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow
Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove.
Past art is subject to change.
The sense of wellbeing! Its often with us When we are young, but then it's not noticed; And by the time one has grown to consciousness It comes less often.
A tradition without intelligence is not worth having.
Our emotions Are only “incidents” In the effort to keep day and night together.
If time and space, as sages say, Are things which cannot be, The sun which does not feel decay No greater is than we. So why, Love, should we ever pray To live a century? The butterfly that lives a day Has lived eternity.
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