Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain- beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering.

Englishmen are babes in philosophy and so prefer faction-fighting to the labour of its unfamiliar thought.

It seems that I must bid the Muse to pack, / Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend / Until imagination, ear and eye, / Can be content with argument and deal / In abstract things; or be derided by / A sort of battered kettle at the heel.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics?