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Science is unpoetic only to minds jaundiced with sentiment and romanticism . . . the great masters of the past boasted all they could of it and found it magical.
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Speak against unconscious oppression, Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative, Speak against bonds.
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The intellect is a very nice whirligig toy, but how people take it seriously is more than I can understand.
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The Garden En robe de parade. - Samain Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, And she is dying piece-meal of a sort of emotional anaemia. And round about there is a rabble Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor. They shall inherit the earth. In her is the end of breeding. Her boredom is exquisite and excessive. She would like some one to speak to her, And is almost afraid that I will commit that indiscretion.
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A real building is one on which the eye can light and stay lit.
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Any general statement is like a check drawn on a bank. Its value depends on what is there to meet it.
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Fit for kings, formal gardens afford an earthly Elysium and the odd impression that we mere men might actually control nature for a time.
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I would hold the rosy, slender fingers of the dawn for you.
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Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea.
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Art is to be admired rather than explained. The jargon of these sculptors is beyond me. I do not precisely know why I admire a green granite, female, apparently pregnant monster with one eye going around a square corner.
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In our time, the curse is monetary illiteracy, just as inability to read plain print was the curse of earlier centuries.
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I found after seventy years that I was not a lunatic but a moron.... I should have been able to do better.
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We do NOT know the past in chronological sequence. It may be convenient to lay it out anesthetized on the table with dates pasted on here and there, but what we know we know by ripples and spirals eddying out from us and from our own time.
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Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family-- Oh how hideous it is To see three generations of one house gathered together! It is like an old tree with shoots, And with some branches rotted and falling.
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'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!
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Haie! Haie! These were the swift to harry; These the keen-scented; These were the souls of blood. Slow on the leash, pallid the leash-men!.
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The sum of human wisdom is not contained in any one language, and no single language is capable of expressing all forms and degrees of human comprehension.
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The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
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Seems fairly clear that you fix a breed by LIMITING the amount of alien infiltration. You make a race by homogeneity and by avoiding INbreeding.... No argument has ever been sprouted against it. You like it in dogs and horses.
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Poetry is a sort of inspired mathematics, which gives us equations, not for abstract figures, triangles, squares, and the like, but for the human emotions. If one has a mind which inclines to magic rather than science, one will prefer to speak of these equations as spells or incantations; it sounds more arcane, mysterious, recondite.
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Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers.
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Compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of a metronome.
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The concept of genius as akin to madness has been carefully cultivated by the inferiority complex of the public.
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A crowd pagan as ever imperial Rome was, eager, careless, with an animal vigour unlike that of any European crowd that I have ever looked at.