Poets who are not interested in music are, or become, bad poets.

The act of bell ringing is symbolic of all proselytizing religions. It implies the pointless interference with the quiet of other people.

The Image is more than an idea. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with energy.

Genius... is the capacity to see ten things where the ordinary man sees one.

Colloquial poetry is to the real art as the barber's wax dummy is to sculpture.

The technique of infamy is to start two lies at once and get people arguing heatedly over which is the truth.

As a bathtub lined with white porcelain, When the hot water gives out or goes tepid, So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion, O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.

The ant's a centaur in his dragon world.

All great art is born of the metropolis.

'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it.

We all have the power to influence others. It is up to us, whether we are going to abuse that power to manipulate people or use it to help them.

I experienced one of the common miracles of the Christian life. Our spirits recognized each other.

We were like captive animals that had lost the will to fight. We even went so far as to defend the very constraints that they hadimposed upon us.

Clearly she was expected to say something, but panic at having to speak stole the thoughts from her head.

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

Whenever you want something that you're not going to get, suddenly the whiney 3-year-old comes out in you.

The old saw about old dogs and new tricks only applies to certain people.

I want to open my own yoga studio. Planning construction and looking at properties is fun.

You do not hate the time you waste; it evokes a much more passive emotion than that. You only wish you had it back, like a quarter in an unlucky slot machine.

What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis; Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.