The blessed spirits must be sought within the self which is common to all
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
We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.
BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there.
I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
Fair and foul are near of kin And fair needs foul," I cried. "My friends are gone, but that's a truth Nor grave nor bed denied."