Quotes

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit.

I am in blood Stepp’d in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

In summer the song sings itself above the muffled words—

So, naturalists observe, a flea Hath smaller fleas that on him prey; And these have smaller still to bite ’em; And so proceed ad infinitum. Thus every poet, in his kind, Is bit by him that comes behind.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round.

Must I hold a candle to my shames?

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

Conversation is but carving! Give no more to every guest Than he’s able to digest. Give him always of the prime, And but little at a time. Carve to all but just enough, Let them neither starve nor stuff, And that you may have your due, Let your neighbor carve for you.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.

Men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Mothlike in mists, scintillant in the minute brilliance of cloudless days, with broad bellying sails they glide to the wind tossing green water from their sharp prows while over them the crew crawls.

Under an oak, in stormy weather, I joined this rogue and whore together; And none but he who rules the thunder Can put this rogue and whore asunder.

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

Young in limbs, in judgment old.

It’s the anarchy of poverty delights me.

Hail, fellow, well met, All dirty and wet: Find out if you can, Who’s master, who’s man.

A batter’d, wreck’d old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far from home, Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken’d and nigh to death, I take my way along the island’s edge, Venting a heavy heart.

My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!

Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.

are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion.

The fool multitude, that choose by show.

Then back to the party! and femaled you jealously as if to discover whence and there should escape, what?

Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, And I become the other dreamers.