“Lovers have lived so long with giants and elves, they won't believe again in their own size.”

“Lovers of small numbers go benignly potty,Believe all tales are thirteen chapters long,Have animal doubles, carry pentagrams,Are Millerites, Baconians, Flat-Earth-Men.Lovers of big numbers go horribly mad,would have the Swiss abolished, all of usWell-purged, somatotyped, baptised, taught baseball:They empty bars, spoil parties, run for Congress.”

“There is a great deal of difference in believing something still, and believing it again.”

“So long as we think of it objectively, time is Fate or Chance, the factor in our lives for which we are not responsible, and about which we can do nothing; but when we begin to think of it subjectively, we feel responsible for our time, and the notion of punctuality arises.”

“Warm are the still and lucky miles,White shores of longing stretch away,A light of recognition fillsThe whole great day, and brightThe tiny world of lovers' arms.Silence invades the breathing woodWhere drowsy limbs a treasure keep,Now greenly falls the learned shadeAcross the sleeping browsAnd stirs their secret to a smile.Restored! Returned! The lost are borneOn seas of shipwreck home at last:See! In a fire of praising burnsThe dry dumb past, and weOur life-day long shall part no more.”

“As readers, we remain in the nursery stage so long as we cannot distinguish between taste and judgment, so long, that is, as the only possible verdicts we can pass on a book are two: this I like; this I don't like.For an adult reader, the possible verdicts are five: I can see this is good and I like it; I can see this is good but I don't like it; I can see this is good and, though at present I don't like it, I believe that with perseverance I shall come to like it; I can see that this is trash but I like it; I can see that this is trash and I don't like it.”

“Beloved, we are always in the wrong,Handling so clumsily our stupid lives, Suffering too little or too long,Too careful even in our selfish loves:The decorative manias we obeyDie in grimaces round us every day,Yet through their tohu-bohu comes a voiceWhich utters an absurd command - Rejoice. ”