“I believe that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.”

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

There is another world, but it is in this one.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.

What can be explained is not poetry.

The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.

Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.

And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.

Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.

In dreams begins responsibility.

If what I say resonates with you, it’s merely because we’re branches of the same tree.

When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance?

It seems to me that true love is a discipline.

The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.

only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

It is the mark of an inexperienced man not to believe in luck.

You won’t believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.

I always prefer to believe the best of everybody, it saves so much trouble.

The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance – the revolt of the soul against the intellect.

Never was I power thirsty, or trying to control everyone. I believed in educating everyone, so they could all get to the position I was at.

It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is.

The things I believed in dont exist any more. It’s foolish to pretend that they do. Western Civilization finally went up in smoke in the chimneys at Dachau but I was too infatuated to see it. I see it now.

There is no belief, however foolish, that will not gather its faithful adherents who will defend it to the death.