It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.

The only enemy of innocence and beauty is time.

For the good are always the merry, / Save by an evil chance,/ And the merry love the fiddle,/ And the merry love to dance: / And when the folk there spy me,/ They will all come up to me, / With,”Here is the fiddler of Dooney!” / And dance like a wave of the sea.

The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. . . . I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance - the revolt of the soul against the intellect.

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick

Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.