Poetry is not an assertion of truth, but the making of that truth more fully real to us.
The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonored shroud.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
No artist produces great art by a deliberate attempt to express his own personality.
War is not a life: it is a situation, one which may neither be ignored nor accepted.
My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand.