If time and space, as sages say,Are things which cannot be,The sun which does not feel decayNo greater is than we.So why, Love, should we ever prayTo live a century?The butterfly that lives a dayHas l...
This is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man
We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.Through the unknown, remembered gateWhen the last of earth l...
It is in Christianity that our arts have developed; it is in Christianity that the laws of Europe--until recently--have been rooted. It is against a background of Christianity that all of our thought...
In a world of fugitives, the person taking the opposite direction will appear to run away.
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
For last year's words belong to last year's languageAnd next year's words await another voice.And to make an end is to make a beginning.
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, every poem an epitaph.
And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.
Our second danger is to associate tradition with the immovable; to think of it as something hostile to all change; to aim to return to some previous condition which we imagine as having been capable o...
Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recallMy buried life, and Paris in the spring,I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the worldTo be wonderful and youthful afterall
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Time present and time pastAre both perhaps present in time futureAnd time future contained in time past.
Fading, fading: strength beyond hope and despair climbing the third stair. Lord, I am not worthy Lord, I am not worthy but speak the word only.
And would it have been worth it, after all,Would it have been worth while,After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trai...
And the end and the beginning were always thereBefore the beginning and after the end.And all is always now.
There is nothing at all to be done about it, There is nothing to do about anything.