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

William Butler Yeats

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It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is.
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Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
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Everything in nature is resurrection.
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God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
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The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
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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.
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It seems to me that true love is a discipline.
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Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
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All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
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Everything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
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Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
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There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.
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Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.
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