By the by, if the English race had done nothing else, yet if they left the world the notion of a gentleman, they would have done a great service to mankind.
Long for me as I for you, forgetting, what will be inevitable, the long black aftermath of pain.
Everything is produced by the workers, and the minute they try to get something by their unions they meet all the opposition that can be mustered by those who now get what they produce.
The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.
Those who promise us paradise on earth never produced anything but a hell.
I am not old but mellow like good wine.
There is no history of mankind, there are only many histories of all kinds of aspects of human life. And one of these is the history of political power. This is elevated into the history of the world.
Good tests kill flawed theories; we remain alive to guess again.
What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet, Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.
I write with experiences in mind, but I don’t write about them, I write out of them.