These be Three silent things: The Falling snow. . . the hour Before the dawn. . . the mouth of one Just dead.

My object to venture the suggestion that an important application of phonetics to metrical problems lies in the study of phonetic word-structure.

Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly... Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep?

I knowNot these my handsAnd yet I think there wasA woman like me once had handsLike these.

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

If itWere lighter touchThan petal of flower restingOn grass, oh still too heavy it were, Too heavy!

Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, -mocking And sweet.

Is it as plainly in our living shown, By which way the wind hath blown?

The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

Dare to feel the joy of life even in the midst of misery.

At last, you will not be remembered for roaming the earth as a non-entity, but by every word, and every miracle, and every love, and every seed that ever came from the innermost part of your heart.

Never say never because limits, like fears, are often illusions.

I think we all feel the same things most of the time, we just don't know how to put it into words. When I'm on stage, I say it. The truth makes people laugh.

The artist's business requires an involvement in practically everything... The total scope of information he receives day after day is of concern.

It is you who makes me see what I really am.

New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.

I was the ugly duckling until I reached puberty.

There is, therefore, a more perfect intellectual life in the angels. In them the intellect does not proceed to self-knowledge from anything exterior, but knows itself through itself.

The only things we keep permanently are those we give away.