He who gives quickly gives twice / in nothing so much as in a letter.

You are not male nor female, but a plan deep-set within the heart of man.

Maine should be pleased that its animal is not a waverer, and rather than fight, lets the primed quill fall. Shallow oppressor, intruder, insister, you have found a resister.

Honesty - however dangerous - should be as valuable as radium it seems to me ...

Blessed the geniuses who know / that egomania is not a duty.

We are what we were at birth, and each trait has remained in conformity with earth's and with heaven's logic: Be the devil's tool, resort to black magic, None can diverge from the ends which Heaven foreordained.

The enslaver is enslaved, the hater, harmed.

If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.

One detects creative power by its capacity to conquer one's detachment.

Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.

A symbol from the first, of mastery, experiments such as Hippocrates made and substituted for vague speculation stayed the ravages of plague.

We prove, we do not explain, our birth,

We don't like flowers that do not wilt; they must die, and nine she-camel hairs aid memory.

When one cannot appraise out of one's own experience, the temptation to blunder is minimized, but even when one can, appraisal seems chiefly useful as appraisal of the appraiser.

I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.

Dürer would have seen a reason for living in a town like this.

... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.

Hate-hardened heart, O heart of iron, iron is iron till it is rust. There never was a war that was not inward;

Appraisal seems chiefly useful as appraisal of the appraiser.

When one is frank, one's very presence is a compliment.

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it after all, a place for the genuine.

I am governed by the pull of the sentence as the pull of fabric is governed by gravity.

Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.

Omissions are not accidents.