I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.

We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936

Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.

Designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors on national taste.

An intellectual hatred is the worst.

I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.