The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.

It is generally a feminine eye that first detects the moral deficiencies hidden under the 'dear deceit' of beauty.

No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.

Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'/Let us go and make our visit.

Success is relative. It is what we make of the mess we have made of things.

The end is where we start from.

Words strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden, Under the tension, slip, slide, perish, Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place, Will not stay still.