As a woman I have no country. As a woman my country is the whole world.

For what Harley Street specialist has time to understand the body, let alone the mind or both in combination, when he is a slave to thirteen thousand a year?

Those comfortably padded lunatic asylums which are known, euphemistically, as the stately homes of England.

Still, life had a way of adding day to day

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

You cannot lecture on really pure poetry any more than you can talk about the ingredients of pure water-it is adulterated, methylated, sanded poetry that makes the best lectures.