It is already possible to imagine a society in which the majority of the population, that is to say, its laborers, will have almost as much leisure as in earlier times was enjoyed by the aristocracy. When one recalls how aristocracies in the past actually behaved, the prospect is not cheerful. |
It is... axiomatic that we should all think of ourselves as being more sensitive than other people because, when we are insensitive in our dealings with others, we cannot be aware of it at the time: conscious insensitivity is a self-contradiction. |
It takes little talent to see what lies under one's nose, a good deal to know in what direction to point that organ. |
It's a sad fact about our culture that a poet can earn much more money writing or talking about his art than he can by practicing it |
It's frightening how easy it is to commit murder in America. Just a drink too much. I can see myself doing it. In England, one feels all the social restraints holding one back. But here, anything can happen. |
It's impossible to represent a saint [in Art]. It becomes boring. Perhaps because he is, like the Saturday Evening Post people, in the position of having almost infinitely free will. |
It's usually the stupid people that develop long illnesses. You need more than indolence and selfishness, you need endurance to make a good patient. |
lay your faithless head upon my arm |
Lay your sleeping head, my love, / Human on my faithless arm. |
Left to itself the masculine imagination has very little appreciation for the here and now; it prefers to dwell on what is absent, on what has been or may be. If men are more punctual than women, it is because they know that, without the external discipline of clock time, they would never get anything done. |
Let mortals beware of words For with words we lie Can speak peace When we mean war But song is true Let music for peace Be the paradigm For peace means change At the right time |
Let us honor if we can the vertical man, though we value none but the horizontal one |
Like everything which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, any marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate. |
Literary confessors are contemptible, like beggars who exhibit their sores for money, but not so contemptible as the public that buys their books. |
Look, stranger, at this island now / The leaping light for your delight discovers. |