How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.

Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.

Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.

The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.

If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.

Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.

One must read poetry with one's nerves.