Consolation for those moments when you can't tell whether you're the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.
As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking.
Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
How far we are going to read a poet when we can read about a poet is a problem to lay before biographers.
I'm fundamentally, I think, an outsider. I do my best work and feel most braced with my back to the wall. It's an odd feeling though, writing aginst the current: difficult entirely to disregard the current. Yet of course I shall.