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

Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will be thinking about love til the stars run away and the shadows eaten the moon.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.

It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.

Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary.