Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

You know there are no secrets in America. It's quite different in England, where people think of a secret as a shared relation between two people.

About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; How well they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.

You shall love your crooked neighbour, with your crooked heart.

Like everything which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, any marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate.

I think the first prerequisite to civilization is an ability to make polite conversation.

Poetry is the only art people haven't learned to consume like soup.