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| The intense happiness of our union is derived in a high degree from the perfect freedom with which we each follow and declare our own impressions. | | Freedom; Happiness | |
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| The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason. | | Temptation | |
| The majority of poems one outgrows and outlives, as one outgrows and outlives the majority of human passions. Dante's is one of those that one can only just hope to grow up to at the end of life. | | Uncategorized | |
| The most important thing for poets to do is to write as little as possible. | | Poets; Writing | |
| The Nobel is a ticket to one's own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it. | | Uncategorized | |
| 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. | | Uncategorized | |
| The only failure a man ought to fear is failure in cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best. | | Uncategorized | |
| The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an `objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion. | | Uncategorized | |
| The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality. | | Art; Personality | |
| The river is within us, the sea is all about us; The sea is the land's edge also | | Uncategorized | |
| The scornful nostril and the high head gather not the odors that lie on the track of truth. | | Uncategorized | |
| The winter evening settles down / With smell of steaks in passage ways. | | Uncategorized | |
| The worlds revolve like ancient women / Gathering fuel in vacant lots. | | Uncategorized | |
| The wounded surgeon plies the steel / That questions the distempered part. | | Uncategorized | |
| The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down. | | Past | |
| The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes. | | Uncategorized | |
| The young feel tired at the end of an action, the old at the beginning. | | Uncategorized | |
| There are flood and drought over the eyes and in the mouth, dead water and dead sand contending for the upper hand. The parched eviscerate soil gapes at the vanity of toil, laughs without mirth. This is the death of the earth. | | Uncategorized | |
| There are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence. | | Men and Women | |
