O heart! O heart! if she’d but turn her head You’d know the folly of being comforted.
For such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend. r.
A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.
Evil comes to all us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.
While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.
The fascination of what’s difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart.
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
I have read somewhere that in the Emperor’s palace at Byzantium was a tree made of gold and silver, and artificial birds that sang.
On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!
All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven’s will.
If there’s no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
Who mocks at music mocks at love.
Love is based on inequality as friendship is on equality.
Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.
A passion-driven exultant man sings out Sentences that he has never thought...
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold...
A lonely impulse of delight.