Lovers have lived so long with giants and elves, they won't believe again in their own size.
W.H. Auden
For poetry makes nothing happen.
poetry
Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.
poetry expression feelings
Without art, we should have no notion of the sacred; without science, we should always worship false gods.
art science gods worship false sacred
Part came from Lane, and part from D.H. Lawrence; Gide, though I didn't know it then, gave part. They taught me to express my deep abhorrenceIf I caught anyone preferring ArtTo Life and Love and being Pure-in-heart.I lived with crooks but seldom was molested; The Pure-in-heart can never be arrested.
life art deep part express love
When someone between twenty and forty says, apropos of a work of art, 'I know what I like,' he is really saying 'I have no taste of my own but accept the taste of my cultural milieu.
work art taste accept
There must always be two kinds of art: escape-art, for man needs escape as he needs food and deep sleep, and parable-art, that art which shall teach man to unlearn hatred and learn love.
sleep food man art deep learn hatred escape teach love
There are good books which are only for adults. There are no good books which are only for children.
children good adults books
Some books are undeservedly forgotten; none are undeservedly remembered.
quality writing memory appreciation forget forgotten books
Funeral BluesStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeropanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
poetry silence death rest thought sky good wrong song stars moon sun black dog south public dead talk forever working ocean white message woods funeral clocks love west traffic
Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot readThe hunter's waking thoughts.
fate life happiness ignorance
Each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.
freedom
Small tyrants, threatened by big, sincerely believethey love liberty.
liberty freedom
The friends who met here and embraced are gone, Each to his own mistake;
friendship decisions lifestyle
dreams hope
I smell blood and an era of prominent madmen.
life writing absurd
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