We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.

Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.

Literature is always personal, always one man's vision of the world, one man's experience, and it can only be popular when men are ready to welcome the visions of others.

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

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

It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.