Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.

All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it

Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.

Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.

I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.

The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.