The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.

I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

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.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.

The problem wiv some blokes is that wen they ain't drunk, they're sober.