Probably, indeed, the larger part of the labor of an author composing his work is critical labor; the labor of sifting, combining, constructing, expunging, correcting, testing. This frightful toil is as much critical as creative.

When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experience ?in the mind of the poet these experiences are always forming new wholes.

Love compels cruelty To those who do not understand love.

Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended

The Nobel is a ticket to one's own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still

The Church must be forever building, for it is forever decaying within and attacked from without.