But a Book is only the Heart’s Portrait- every Page a Pulse.
An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear, We wish the ear had not a heart So dangerously near.
Parting is all we know of Heaven, and all we need of Hell.
Judge tenderly of me.
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by, With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I’d wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls.
I tasted life.
How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world, – you must have noticed them in the street, – how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
A wounded deer leaps the highest.
Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes.
I must go in, the fog is rising.
Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
Art is a house that tries to be haunted.
I have been bent and broken, but -I hope- into a better shape.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant.
Para viajar lejos, no hay mejor nave que un libro.
The soul should always stand ajar.
That Love is all there is Is all we know of Love, It is enough, the freight should be Proportioned to the groove.
Our lives are Swiss, so still- so cool.