We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
Hammer your thoughts into unity.
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
As I thought of these things, I drew aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, and it seemed to my troubled fancy that all those little points of light filling the sky were the furnaces of innumerable divine alchemists, who labour continually, turning lead into gold, weariness into ecstasy, bodies into souls, the darkness into God; and at their perfect labour my mortality grew heavy, and I cried out, as so many dreamers and men of letters in our age have cried, for the birth of that elaborate spiritual beauty which could alone uplift souls weighted with so many dreams.
Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
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 hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.
People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
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.
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.
Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
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.
Love is based on inequality as friendship is on equality.
The house ghost is usually a harmless and well-meaning creature. It is put up with as long as possible. It brings good luck to those who live with it.
Before The World Was Made If I make the lashes dark and the eyes more bright and the lips more scarlet, or ask if all be right from mirror after mirror, no vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had before the world was made. What if I look upon a man as though on my beloved, and my blood be cold the while and my heart unmoved? Why should he think me cruel or that he is betrayed? I'd have him love the thing that was before the world was made.
Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary.
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