We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
Any poet, if he is to survive beyond his 25th year, must alter; he must seek new literary influences; he will have different emotions to express.
It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.
It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
April is the cruellest month.
Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Art never improves, but... the material of art is never quite the same.
Home is where one starts from.
Our high respect for a well read person is praise enough for literature.
Let's not be narrow, nasty, and negative.
Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labelled.
This love is silent.
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
It's not wise to violate rules until you know how to observe them.
Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
The soul is so far from being a monad that we have not only to interpret other souls to ourself but to interpret ourself to ourself.