"But we are gifted, even in November, Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense Of her nakedly worn magnificence We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall."

"Kaisers and Czars will strut the stage Once more with pomp and greed and rage; Courtly ministers will stop At home and fight to the last drop; By the million men will die In some new horrible agony..."

"There’s a cool web of language winds us in, Retreat from too much joy or too much fear: We grow sea-green at last and coldly die In brininess and volubility."

"As you are woman, so be lovely: As you are lovely, so be various, Merciful as constant, constant as various, So be mine, as I yours for ever."

"His eyes are quickened so with grief, He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee From the throat of a dead man."

"Be warm, enjoy the season, lift your head, Exquisite in the pulse of tainted blood, That shivering glory not to be despised. Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and dark — a shining space With the grave’s narrowness, though not its peace."

"If I were a girl, I'd despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of a man who desrves them."

"Trench stinks of shallow buried dead Where Tom stands at the periscope, Tired out. After nine months he’s shed All fear, all faith, all hate, all hope."

"Children, if you dare to think Of the greatness, rareness, muchness, Fewness of this precious only Endless world in which you say You live, you think of things like this: Blocks of slate enclosing dappled Red and green, enclosing tawny Yellow nets, enclosing white And black acres of dominoes, Where a neat brown paper parcel Tempts you to untie the string."

"Christ of His gentleness Thirsting and hungering, Walked in the wilderness; Soft words of grace He spoke Unto lost desert-folk That listened wondering."

"A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end."

"Philosophy is antipoetic. Philosophize about mankind and you brush aside individual uniqueness, which a poet cannot do without self-damage. Unless, for a start, he has a strong personal rhythm to vary his metrics, he is nothing. Poets mistrust philosophy. They know that once the heads are counted, each owner of a head loses his personal identity and becomes a number in some government scheme: if not as a slave or serf, at least as a party to the device of majority voting, which smothers personal views."

"The remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he is really very good — in spite of all the people who say he is very good."

"Abstract reason, formerly the servant of practical human reasons, has everywhere become its master, and denies poetry any excuse for existence. Though philosophers like to define poetry as irrational fancy, for us it is practical, humorous, reasonable way of being ourselves. Of never acquiescing in a fraud; of never accepting the secondary-rate in poetry, painting, music, love, friends. Of safeguarding our poetic institutions against the encroachments of mechanized, insensate, inhumane, abstract rationality."

"I believe that every English poet should read the English classics, master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them, travel abroad, experience the horror of sordid passion and — if he is lucky enough — know the love of an honest woman."

"Even nowadays an archaic sense of love-innocence recurs, however briefly, among most young men and women. Some few of these, who become poets, remain in love for the rest of their lives, watching the world with a detachment unknown to lawyers, politicians, financiers, and all other ministers of that blind and irresponsible successor to matriarchy and patriarchy — the mechanarchy."

"Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame That at the whisper of Love’s name, Or Beauty’s, presto! up you raise Your angry head and stand at gaze?"

"Anthropologists are a connecting link between poets and scientists; though their field-work among primitive peoples has often made them forget the language of science."

"The dead may speak the truth only, even when it discredits themselves."

"To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession."

"To the much-tossed Ulysses, never done With woman whether gowned as wife or whore, Penelope and Circe seemed as one: She like a whore made his lewd fancies run, And wifely she a hero to him bore."

"Shells used to come bursting on my bed at midnight, even though Nancy shared it with me; strangers in daytime would assume the faces of friends who had been killed... I could not use a telephone, I felt sick every time I travelled by train, and to see more than two new people in a single day prevented me from sleeping."

"They multiplied into the Sirens' throng, Forewarned by fear of whom he stood bound fast Hand and foot helpless to the vessel's mast, Yet would not stop his ears: daring their song He groaned and sweated till that shore was past."

"…that perfect Tranquillity of Life, which is no where to be found, but in retreat, a faithful Friend and a good Library…"

"Each moment of the happy lover's hour is worth an age of dull and common life."

"Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude."

"She was employed by Charles II, in 1666, in a political negotiation at Antwerp, which she managed with much dexterity; but her intelligence (though well-founded) being disregarded, she renounced all state affairs, and amused herself some time with the gallantries of Antwerp; and, when she arrived at London, dedicated the rest of her life to pleasure and poetry."

"Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret."

"Oh what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!"

"He that knew all that ever Learning writ, Knew only this - that he knew nothing yet."

"Money speaks sense in a language all nations understand."

"One hour of right-down love is worth an age of dully living on."

"Come away; poverty's catching."

"A brave world, sir, full of religion, knavery, and change: we shall shortly see better days."

"Faith, sir, we are here today, and gone tomorrow."

"Variety is the soul of pleasure."

"No friend to Love like a long voyage at sea."

"There's no sinner like a young saint."

"Patience is a flatterer, sir, and an ass, sir."

"Evolution takes no prisoners. A loathsome philosophy, but hard to argue against. Repulsive, but entirely valid. Otherwise, the Earth would still be populated by giant pea-brained lizards."

"Take anything to its logical conclusion and you’re likely to end up with the grotesque and the absurd."

"You’re not supposed to be always on the doorstep clamouring for instructions. Use your discretion and your initiative, they say, that’s why you’re the grade you are. And then, when it all goes wrong, it’s all your fault. What on Earth possessed you to do all that without checking back first? How could you have been so stupid?"

"Why get so worked up about a nonexistent threat? Answer: someone somewhere is covering something up."

"The fact is, the more you look for something, the likelier you are to find it, even if isn’t actually there; sooner or later, if you look hard enough, you’ll find something. The trick is then to interpret what you’ve found as what you were looking for."

"The great thing about not necessarily believing in your beliefs is that it’s so much easier to revise them."

"On the way out, I reflected on the way in which so many mortals pray. It’s strictly a rational proposition. If He exists, they argue, it’s best to be on the right side of Him; if He doesn’t, well, no harm done, it hasn’t cost anything. I’m not like that, unfortunately. Either I believe or I don’t. And I believed—thought I believed—in the doctrines of Saloninus concerning the invalidity of conventional morality. I believed that there are no absolutes of good and evil and that all that matters, in the final analysis, is which side you’re on. It was, I felt, a doctrine which accorded exactly with my own observations and experience. The problems start when your side isn’t on your side anymore."

"“But the unforeseen consequences—” “What consequences?” “I don’t know, I can’t foresee them.”"

"“You twist everything,” he said. “Guilty,” I said. “Though I prefer to think of it as a form of art.”"

"Our lot may be all-seeing and all-knowing, but that’s a long way removed from all-understanding."