A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

Hammer your thoughts into unity.

Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will be thinking about love til the stars run away and the shadows eaten the moon.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.

What can be explained is not poetry.

My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.