The labor of the alchemists, who were called artist in their day, is a befitting comparison for a deliberate change of style.

I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.

Education is not about filling a pail, it's about lighting a fire.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms!

Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

A lonely impulse of delight