So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Trying to use words, and every attempt Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure Because one has only learnt to get the better of words For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate With shabby equipment always deteriorating In the general mess of imprecision of feeling.

Bad poets imitate, good poets steal.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.

Tennyson and Browning are poets, and they think; but they do not feel their thought as immediately as the odour of a rose. A thought to Donne was an experience; it modified his sensibility.

Humility is the most difficult of all virtues to achieve; nothing dies harder than the desire to think well of self.