What "love" is I don't know if it's not the response of our deepest natures to one another.

One thing I am convinced more and more is true, and that is this: The only way to be truly happy is to make others happy. When you realize that and take advantage of the fact, everything is made perfect.

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

[History is] a tyranny over the souls of the dead - and so the imagination of the living.

I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.

To refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live there is but a single force the imagination.

Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!