Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.
People are only influenced in the direction in which they want to go, and influence consists largely in making them conscious of their wishes to proceed in that direction.
The young feel tired at the end of an action, the old at the beginning.
You can evade life, but you can not evade Death.
life is long between the desire and the spasm.
Poetry is not an assertion of truth, but the making of that truth more fully real to us.
Men dislike being awakened from their death in life.
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Where is the Life we lost in living?
Everyone's alone - or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other; They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?
What we know of other people's only our memory of the moments during which we knew them.
Time past and time future allow but a little consciousness. To be conscious is not to be in time.
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous. Resign yourself to be the fool you are... ...We must always take risks. That is our destiny.
The more perfect the artist, the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates.
Good poets borrow, great poets steal
What is this self-inside us, this silent observer, severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us, and urge us onto futile activity, and in the end, judge us still more severely for the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?
Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair.
To each individual the world will take on a different connotation of meaning-the important lies in the desire to search for an answer.
Our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves, and of our visible, sensible world.
With a poem you can say 'I got my feeling into words for myself. I now have the equivalent in words for that much of what I have felt.'
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. . . . So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
I am glad you have a Cat, but I do not believe it is So remarkable a cat as My Cat.
One thing you cannot know: The sudden extinction of every alternative, The unexpected crash of the iron cataract. You do not know what hope is, until you have lost it. You only know what it is not to hope: You do not know what it is to have hope taken from you Or to fling it away, to join the legion of the hopeless Unrecognized by other men, though sometimes by each other.
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