Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
Once you attempt legislation upon religious grounds, you open the way for every kind of intolerance and religious persecution.
The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. . . . I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance - the revolt of the soul against the intellect.
What can be explained is not poetry.
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.
Everything in nature is resurrection.
It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
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.
Myself I must remake.
Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.
Though leaves are many, the root is one.
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
When You Are Old" WHEN you are old and grey 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; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
I believe... that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
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