42 quotes found
“Oh, to awake from dreaming!”
“I am not one and simple, but complex and many.”
“But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.”
“And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.”
“Death is woven in with the violets, said Louis. Death and again death.)”
“I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.”
“But for pain words are lacking. There should be cries, cracks, fissures, whiteness passing over chintz covers, interference with the sense of time, of space; the sense also of extreme fixity in pas...”
“Waves of hands, hesitations at street corners, someone dropping a cigarette into the gutter-all are stories. But which is the true story? That I do not know. Hence I keep my phrases hung like cloth...”
“I want someone to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, and its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarrelling and reconciliation I need privacy - to be alon...”
“I must be able to say, 'Percival, a ridiculous name'. At the same time let me tell you, men and women, hurrying to the tube station, you would have had to respect him. You would have had to form up...”
“Among the tortures and devastations of life is this thenour friends are not able to finish their stories.”
“For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.”
“This self now as I leant over the gate looking down over fields rolling in waves of colour beneath me made no answer. He threw up no opposition. He attempted no phrase. His fist did not form. I wai...”
“Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?”
“And in me too the wave rises. It swells; it arches its back. I am aware once more of a new desire, something rising beneath me like the proud horse whose rider first spurs and then pulls him back. ...”
“Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a poet, yes. Surely I am a great poet.”
“Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take...”
“The lake of my mind, unbroken by oars, heaves placidly and soon sinks into an oily somnolence. That will be useful.”
“I strike spurs into my horse. Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!”
“It seems comfortable to sink down on a sofa in a corner, to look, to listen. Then it happens that two figures standing with their backs against the window appear against the branches of a spreading...”
“When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darknessI am nothing.”
“We became six people at a table in Hampton Court. We rose and walked together down the avenue. In the thin, the unreal twilight, fitfully like the echo of voices laughing down some alley, geniality...”
“How then does light return to the world after the eclipse of the sun? Miraculously. Frailly. In thin stripes. It hangs like a glass cage. It is a hoop to be fractured by a tiny jar. There is a spar...”
“Life, how I have dreaded you," said Rhoda, "oh, human beings, how I have hated you! How you have nudged, how you have interrupted, how hideous you have looked in Oxford Street, how squalid sitting ...”
