I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Honest criticism and sensitive appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry.

A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.

In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.

If you start with a bang, you won't end with a whimper.

What is this self-inside us, this silent observer, severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us, and urge us onto futile activity, and in the end, judge us still more severely for the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?

Never commit yourself to a cheese without having first examined it.