But then peace, peace! I am so mistrustful of it: so much afraid that it means a sort of weakness and giving in.
But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
We and the cosmos are one. The cosmos is a vast body, of which we are still parts. The sun is a great heart whose tremors run through our smallest veins. The moon is a great gleaming nerve-centre from which we quiver forever. Who knows the power that Saturn has over us or Venus? But it is a vital power, rippling exquisitely through us all the time... Now all this is literally true, as men knew in the great past and as they will know again
Perhaps only those people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the world.
An artist is only an ordinary man with a greater potentiality--same stuff, same make up, only more force. And the strong driving force usually finds his weak spot, and he goes cranked, or goes under.
Art-speech is the only truth. An artist is usually a damned liar, but his art, if it be art, will tell you the truth of his day. And that is all that matters. Away with eternal truth.
Be a good animal, true to your animal instincts.
Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot.
Blood is wiser than head.
I cannot be a materialist -- but Oh, how is it possible that a God who speaks to all hearts can let Belgravia go laughing to a vicious luxury, and White chapel cursing to a filthy debauchery -- such suffering, such dreadful suffering -- and shall the short years of Christ's mission atone for it all?