Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

How can we know the dancer from the dance?

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.

I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness. They have all made what Dante calls the Great Refusal. The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth.