I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.

Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.

The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.

On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

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