Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords.

I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.

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.

Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.

So the lover must struggle for words.

Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

Business today consists in persuading crowds.

We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.

It is only in the world of objects that we have time and space and selves.

A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

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?

Art never improves, but... the material of art is never quite the same.

I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.

As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.

The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

You are the music while the music lasts.

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.

There is no method but to be very intelligent.

Every experience is a paradox in that it means to be absolute, and yet is relative; in that it somehow always goes beyond itself and yet never escapes itself.

Home is where one starts from.

Our high respect for a well read person is praise enough for literature.

I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.