Still the mind smiles at its own rebellions.
A little too abstract, a little too wise, It is time for us to kiss the earth again, It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies, Let the rich life run to the roots again.
Long live freedom and damn the ideologies.
I’ve changed my ways a little, I cannot now Run with you in the evenings along the shore, Except in a kind of dream, and you, if you dream a moment, You see me there.
Poetry is not a civilizer, rather the reverse, for great poetry appeals to the most primitive instincts.
The world’s in a bad way, my man, And bound to be worse before it mends; Better lie up in the mountain here Four or five centuries, While the stars go over the lonely ocean.
It is only a little planet, but how beautiful it is.
He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
I have seen these ways of God: I know of no reason For fire and change and torture and the old returnings.
Know that however ugly the parts appear the whole remains beautiful.
The tides are in our veins.
The cold passion for truth hunts in no pack.
Happy people die whole, they are all dissolved in a moment, they have had what they wanted.
The greatest beauty is organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty of the universe.
There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life’s end is death.
Oh heavy change. The world deteriorates like a rotting apple, worms and a skin.
Does it matter whether you hate yourself? At least love your eyes that can see, your mind that can hear the music, the thunder of the wings.
Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed.
Pleasure is the carrot dangled to lead the ass to market; or the precipice.
The love of freedom has been the quality of Western man.