Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.

Mock mockers after that That would not lift a hand maybe To help good, wise or great To bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

but one loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams; one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss perhaps.

Is it not certain that the Creator yawns in earthquake and thunder and other popular displays, but toils in rounding the delicate spiral of a shell? -Yeats, The Trembling of the Veil

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.