I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
Because I do not hope to turn again / Because I do not hope / Because I do not hope to turn.
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
There's no vocabulary For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.
There is nothing that will kill a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with but himself.
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.
The one thing you can do is to do nothing. Wait . . . You will find that you survive humiliation and hat's an experience of incalculable value.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.
And I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning striding behind you or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.
Plainness has its peculiar temptations quite as much as beauty.
There is one order of beauty which seems made to turn heads. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle.
In my beginning is my end.
You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, and how, how rare and strange it is, to find in a life composed so much of odds and ends
to find a friend who has these qualities, who has, and gives those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you -without these friendships - life, what cauchemar!
You are the music while the music lasts.
What do we live for; if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?
When a Cat adopts you there is nothing to be done about it except put up with it until the wind changes.
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
This love is silent.
If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
Footfalls echo in the memory, Down the passage which we did not take, Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden.
The river is within us, the sea is all about us; The sea is the land's edge also.
War is not a life: it is a situation, one which may neither be ignored nor accepted.