Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair.

And all shall be well and/ All manner of thing shall be well/ By the purification of the motive/ In the ground of our beseeching

We do not pass twice through the same door Or return to the door through which we did not pass.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.

I take as metaphysical poetry that in which what is ordinarily apprehensible only by thought is brought within the grasp of feeling, or that in which what is ordinarily only felt is transformed into thought without ceasing to be feeling.

Culture is the one thing that we cannot deliberately aim at. It is the product of a variety of more or less harmonious activities, each pursued for its own sake.

Bad poets imitate, good poets steal.