I would hold the rosy, slender fingers of the dawn for you.

The temple is holy because it is not for sale.

As for literature It gives no man a sinecure. And no one knows, at sight, a masterpiece. And give up verse, my boy, There's nothing in it.

Genius... is the capacity to see ten things where the ordinary man sees one.

Be not cheap or mediocre in desiring.

And the betrayers of language ...... n and the press gang And those who had lied for hire; The perverts, the perverters of language, the perverts, who have set money-lust Before the pleasures of the senses; howling, as of a hen-yard in a printing-house, the clatter of presses, the blowing of dry dust and stray paper, foetor, sweat, the stench of stale oranges.

The artist is always beginning.