We Shall Not Cease From Exploration

A Tradition Without Intelligence Is Not Worth Having.

The Hint Half Guessed, The Gift Half Understood, Is Incarnation. Here The Impossible Union Of Spheres Of Existence Is Actual. Here The Past And Future Are Conquered And Reconciled.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly And Paces About Her Room Again, Alone, She Smooths Her Hair With Automatic Hand, And Puts A Record On The Gramophone.

I Grow Old … I Grow Old … I Shall Wear The Bottoms Of My Trousers Rolled.

I Was Too Slow A Mover To Be A Boxer. It Was Much Easier To Be A Poet.