“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”

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.

And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.

Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.

By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.

A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote. A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your throat. So stay at home and drink your beer and let the neighbors vote.

Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary.

When people call me God, I say, no, I’m still an angel or saint of acting. I still have a long way to go.

Do not give up if you get an opportunity to please someone, they are the angels who can give a grin on someone’s face.

The savior who wants to turn men into angels is as much a hater of human nature as the totalitarian despot who wants to turn them into puppets.

She kissed me just right, like only a lonely angel can.

So when that Angel of the darker Drink, at last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul forth to your Lips to quaff-you shall not shrink.

Make sure to send a lazy man the angel of death.

The Truth has shared so much of Itself with me That I can no longer call myself A man, a woman, an angel, Or even pure Soul.

Nobody knows if Zidane is an angel or demon. He smiles like Saint Teresa and grimaces like a serial killer.