Virginia Woolf, I enjoyed talking to her, but thought nothing of her writing. I considered her 'a beautiful little knitter.
[History is] that terrible mill in which sawdust rejoins sawdust.
The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.
Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.
I'm dying, but otherwise I'm in very good health.