I feel that by writing I am doing what is far more necessary than anything else.

For such will be our ruin if you, in the immensity of your public abstractions, forget the private figure, or if we in the intensity of our private emotions forget the public world. Both houses will be ruined, the public and the private, the material and the spiritual, for they are inseparably connected.

Most of a modest woman's life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.

I want the concentration and the romance, and the worlds all glued together, fused, glowing: have no time to waste any more on prose.

The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.

My notion's to think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take care of themselves.

The poet is always our contemporary.