The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

What can be explained is not poetry.

I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness. They have all made what Dante calls the Great Refusal. The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth.

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.