The poet’s mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
For every life and every act consequence of good and evil can be shown and as in time results of many deeds are blended so good and evil in the end become confounded.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Gin and drugs, dear lady, gin and drugs.
Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow.
Composing on the typewriter, I find that I am sloughing off all my long sentences which I used to dote upon. Short, staccato, like modern French prose. The typewriter makes for lucidity, but I am not sure that it encourages subtlety.
Honest criticism and sensible appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry.
Friendship should be more than biting time can sever.
A tradition without intelligence is not worth having.
The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.
Cats must have three names-an everyday name, such as Peter; a more particular, dignified name, such as Quaxo, Bombalurina, or Jellylorum; and, thirdly, the name the cat thinks up for himself, his deep and inscrutable singular Name.
Hungry Hatred, will not strive against intelligence self-interest.
Those who talk of the bible as a monument of English prose are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity.
Genuine blasphemy, genuine in spirit and not purely verbal, is the product of partial belief, and is as impossible to the complete atheist as to the perfect Christian.
No scheme for a change of society can be made to appear immediately palatable, except by falsehood, until society has become so desperate that it will accept any change.
Birth, and copulation, and death; that’s all the facts when you come to brass tacks.
Before a cat will condescend to treat you as a trusted friend, some little token of esteem is needed, like a dish of cream.
Again I must remind you that a dog’s a dog-a cat’s a cat.