Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.

Shall memory restore The steps and the shore, The face and the meeting place.

Herds of reindeer move across Miles and miles of golden moss

Routine, in an intelligent man, is a sign of ambition.

Attacking bad books is not only a waste of time but also bad for the character. If I find a book really bad, the only interest I can derive from writing about it has to come from myself, from such display of intelligence, wit and malice as I can contrive. One cannot review a bad book without showing off.

There has been a vast output of critical studies in contemporary poetry, some of them first rate, but I do not think that , as a rule, a poet should read them.

The windiest militant trash Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart; For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have; Not universal love But to be loved alone.