They don't understand what it is to be awake, / To be living on several planes at once / Though one cannot speak with several voices at once.

There is, it seems to us, At best, only a limited value In the knowledge derived from experience.

In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.

Dante and Shakespeare divide the world between them. There is no third.

Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know.

Philosophy: a purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.