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

Now as to magic. It is surely absurd to hold me "weak" or otherwise because I choose to persist in a study which I decided deliberately four or five years ago to make, next to my poetry, the most important pursuit of my life...If I had not made magic my constant study I could not have written a single word of my Blake book, nor would The Countess Kathleen have ever come to exist. The mystical life is the center of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

It's certain there are trout somewhere - And maybe I shall take a trout - but I do not seem to care.

We all to some extent meet again and again the same people and certainly in some cases form a kind of family of two or three or more persons who come together life after life until all passionate relations are exhausted, the child of one life the husband, wife, brother, sister of the next. Sometimes, however, a single relationship will repeat itself, turning its revolving wheel again and again.

I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.