Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them.
Television is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.
Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.
There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labelled.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.
You are the music while the music lasts.
Let's not be narrow, nasty, and negative.
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
So the lover must struggle for words.
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness.