Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Poetry is the deification of reality.
There is no truth. Only points of view.
I'm afraid I'm being an awful nuisance.
The poet is the complete lover of mankind.
Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.
It is hardly respectable to be good nowadays.
Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm.
the arts are life accelerated and concentrated.
I'm dying, but otherwise I'm in very good health.
My poems are hymns of praise to the glory of life.
All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.
I am an unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish.
All great art contains an element of the irrational.
If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?
I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.
People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess.
[History is] that terrible mill in which sawdust rejoins sawdust.
My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.
... all ugliness passes, and beauty endures, excepting of the skin.
I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.
I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent.
Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality.
The light would show (if it could harden) Eternities of kitchen garden
The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth.
One's own surroundings means so much to one, when one is feeling miserable.
Your soul: pure glucose edged with hints Of tentative and half-soiled tints
What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.
I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.
As for the usefulness of poetry, its uses are many. It is the deification of reality.
A great many people now reading and writing would be better employed keeping rabbits.
It is part of the poet's work to show each man what he sees but does not know he sees.
Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness.
The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty... but I am too busy thinking about myself.
I wouldn't dream of following a fashion... how could one be a different person every three months?
I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.
it is as unseeing to ask what is the use of poetry as it would be to ask what is the use of religion.
Virginia Woolf's writing is no more than glamorous knitting. I believe she must have a pattern somewhere.
Hot water is my native element. I was in it as a baby, and I have never seemed to get out of it ever since.
The child and the great artist -- these alone receive the sensation fresh as it was at the beginning of the world.
When we think of cruelty, we must try to remember the stupidity, the envy, the frustration from which it has arisen.
By the time I was eleven years old, I had been taught that nature, far from abhorring a Vacuum, positively adores it.
If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.
Virginia Woolf, I enjoyed talking to her, but thought nothing of her writing. I considered her 'a beautiful little knitter.
I am not eccentric. It's just that I am more alive than most people. I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.
Why not be oneself? That is the whole secret of a successful appearance. If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?
Still falls the rain - dark as the world of man, black as our loss - blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
Art is magic, not logic. This craze for the logical spirit in irrational shape is part of the present harmful mania for uniformity.
The aim of flattery is to soothe and encourage us by assuring us of the truth of an opinion we have already formed about ourselves.
The living blind and seeing Dead together lie As if in love . . . There was no more hating then, And no more love; Gone is the heart of Man.