All time is unreedemable.
After the torchlight red on sweaty facesAfter the frosty silence in the gardensAfter the agony in stony placesThe crying and the shoutingPrison and place and reverberationOf thunder of spring over dis...
Believe me, Michael:Those who flee from the past will always lose the race.I know this from experience. When you reach your goal,Your imagined paradise of success and grandeur,You will find your past...
Because I came to seeThat I should never have been a first-rate potter.I didn't have it in me. It's strange, isn't it, That a man should have a consuming passion To do something for which he lacks the...
That's not what I meant at all... that's not it at all.
Music heard so deeplyThat it is not heard at all, butyou are the musicWhile the music lasts.
You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles’ heel.You will go on, and when you have prevailedYou can say: at this point many a one has failed.But what have I, but what have I, my friend,To give you, wh...
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
What might have been is an abstractionRemaining a perpetual possibilityOnly in a world of speculation.
What have we given?My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment's surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existed.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches growOut of this stony rubbish? Son of man,You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken images, where the sun beats,And the dead tree gives...
We are the hollow menWe are the stuffed menLeaning togetherHeadpiece filled with straw. Alas!Our dried voices, whenWe whisper togetherAre quiet and meaninglessAs wind in dry grassOr rats' feet over br...
The vast accumulations of knowledge—or at least of information—deposited by the nineteenth century have been responsible for an equally vast ignorance. When there is so much to be known, when there ar...
The poet's mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present t...
The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
The endless cycle of idea and action,Endless invention, endless experiment,Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;Knowledge of words, and ignorance of...
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or longBut at my back in a cold blast I hearThe rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'/Let us go and make our visit.
My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;Her coat is one of the tabby kind,with tiger stripes and lepard spots.