Forgotten is forgiven.

Great art is the contempt of a great man for small art.

Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat; the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.

First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.