Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill.
I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Imagination applied to the whole world is vapid in comparison to imagination applied to a detail.
Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
Poetry is the scholar's art.
The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.