To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.
ROBERT GRAVESFor words of rapture groping, they”Never such love,” swore “ever before was!”
More Robert Graves Quotes
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There is one story and one story only.
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I have done many impious things–no great ruler can do otherwise. I have put the good of the Empire before all human considerations. To keep the Empire free from factions I have had to commit many crimes.
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There is no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting.
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Poet, never chase the dream. Laugh yourself and turn away. Mask your hunger, let it seem Small matter if he come or stay; But when he nestles in your hand at last, Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.
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One gets to the heart of the matter by a series of experiences in the same pattern, but in different colors.
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To recommend a monarchy on account of the prosperity it gives the provinces seems to me like recommending that a man should have liberty to treat his children as slaves, if at the same time he treats his slaves with reasonable consideration.
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Myths are seldom simple, and never irresponsible.
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If I were a girl, I’d despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of the men who deserve them.
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Truth-loving Persians do not dwell upon The trivial skirmish fought near Marathon.
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A well-chosen anthology is a complete dispensary of medicine for the more common mental disorders, and may be used as much for prevention as cure.
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Love at first sight’some say misnaming Discovery of twinned helplessness Against the huge tug of procreation. But friendship at first sight? This also Catches fiercely at the surprised heart So that the cheek blanches then blushes.
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Love is a universal migraine. A bright stain on the vision, Blotting out reason.
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If I were a girl, I’d despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of the men who deserve them.
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Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and dark a shining space With the grave ‘s narrowness, though not its peace.
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Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher Swept off his tall hat to the Squire’s own daughter, So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly Singing about her head, as she rode by.
ROBERT GRAVES