Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons.

I see the moon like a clipped piece of silver. Like gilded bees the stars cluster round her.

It is always the unreadable that occurs.

The poet is the supreme artist, for he is the master of colour and of form, and the real musician besides, and is lord over all life and all arts.

There are moments when one has to choose between living one's own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.

To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders...It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.

Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.