We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love

Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.

The problem wiv some blokes is that wen they ain't drunk, they're sober.

It seems to me that true love is a discipline.

God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.

For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.

What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.