Beloved, we are always in the wrong, Handling so clumsily our stupid lives, Suffering too little or too long, Too careful even in our selfish loves: The decorative manias we obey Die in grimaces round us every day, Yet through their tohu-bohu comes a voice Which utters an absurd command - Rejoice.
W. H. AudenA craftsman knows in advance what the finished result will be, while the artist knows only what it will be when he has finished it.
W. H. AudenAll the rest is silence On the other side of the wall, And the silence ripeness, And the ripeness all.
W. H. Auden