The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be.

Books have the same enemies as people: fire, humidity, animals, weather, and their own content.

…in song the words tend to lose their significance, do often lose it, while at the other extreme, in current prose it is the musical value that tends to disappear – so that verse stands symmetrically, as it were, between song, on the one hand, and prose on the other

Books have the same enemies as people: fire, humidity, animals, weather, and their own content.

That which has always been accepted by everyone, everywhere, is almost certain to be false.

What others think of us would be of little moment did it not, when known, so deeply tinge what we think of ourselves.

Love is being stupid together.

A poem is never finished, only abandoned.