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The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

Robert Graves

We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
ROBERT GRAVES

Betrayal Cruelty Fall Past
He found a formula for drawing comic rabbits: This formula for drawing comic rabbits paid. Till in the end he could not change the tragic habits This formula for drawing comic rabbits made.
ROBERT GRAVES

Animal Art Creativity Drawing End Formula Memory Rabbit
There is no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting.
ROBERT GRAVES

Goodness Poet Writing
Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and dark a shining space With the grave ‘s narrowness, though not its peace.
ROBERT GRAVES

Art Calm Dark Happiness Knowledge Positive Shine Smile Space Top
To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.
ROBERT GRAVES

Condition Poet Profession
Faults in English prose derive not so much from lack of knowledge, intelligence or art as from lack of thought, patience or goodwill.
ROBERT GRAVES

Always Art Fault Faults Gem God Goodwill Granted Heart Intelligent Knowledge Power Pure Soul Success True
I was thinking, “So, I’m Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least I’ll be able to make people read my books now.
ROBERT GRAVES

Book Energy Innovation Mind People Positive Secrecy Solitude Soul Think Thinking
Kaisers and Czars will strut the stage Once more with pomp and greed and rage; Courtly ministers will stop At home and fight to the last drop; By the million men will die In some new horrible agony.
ROBERT GRAVES
Patriotism, in the trenches, was too remote a sentiment, and at once rejected as fit only for civilians, or prisoners. A new arrival who talked patriotism would soon be told to cut it out.
ROBERT GRAVES

Civilian Cutting Fit Freedom Help Hope Inspire Patriotism Reject Story Trencher
I made no more protests. What was the use of struggling against fate
ROBERT GRAVES

Culture Fate Intellectual Journey Lesson Moral relief Struggle Taught
But give thanks, at least, that you still have Frost’s poems; and when you feel the need of solitude, retreat to the companionship of moon, water, hills and trees. Retreat, he reminds us, should not be confused with escape. And take these poems along for good luck!
ROBERT GRAVES

Accept Art Chance Confused Control Fate Good Luck Lucky Moon Sad Soul
Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild I’d love to be a Fairy’s child.
ROBERT GRAVES

Attack Bells Children Consequence Foam History Humanity Kingdom Rule Running Sanity Slave Strong
But give thanks, at least, that you still have Frost’s poems; and when you feel the need of solitude, retreat to the companionship of moon, water, hills and trees. Retreat, he reminds us, should not be confused with escape. And take these poems along for good luck!
ROBERT GRAVES

Accept Art Chance Confused Control Fate Good Luck Lucky Moon Sad Soul
The decline of true taste for food is the beginning of a decline in a national culture as a whole. When people have lost their authentic personal taste, they lose their personality and become the instruments of other people’s wills.
ROBERT GRAVES

Character Culture Grow Hour Mature People Perfection Personality
Originally marriage meant the sale of a woman by one man to another; now most women sell themselves though they have no intention of delivering the goods listed in the bill of sale.
ROBERT GRAVES

Bill Easy Family Life Marriage Men Precious Time Together Trust World
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.
ROBERT GRAVES

Crowd Desire Discovery Fire Goal Heart Hide Life Rise Sight Street Want Won

The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

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The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

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