Denise Levertov
In certain ways writing is a form of prayer. —Denise Levertov
Category: British-American Culture
Aldous Huxley
The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the… Continue reading Aldous Huxley
Denise Levertov
I hear the tide turning. Lasteager wave over-taken and pulled back by the first wave of the ebb. The pull backby moon-ache. The great knotsof moon-awake energyfar out. — Denise Levertov, from “The Tide,” Poems, 1960-1967 ( New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1983)
W.H. Auden
Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links,Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks,Under the look of fatigue the attack of migraine and the sighThere is always another story, there is more than meets the eye. — W.H. Auden, from “At Last the Secret Is Out,” As… Continue reading W.H. Auden
Aldous Huxley
Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored. ― Aldous Huxley, Complete Essays, Vol. II: 1926-1929. (Ivan R. Dee, November 7, 2000)
Aldous Huxley
I’m afraid of losing my obscurity. Genuineness only thrives in the dark. Like celery. — Aldous Huxley
Aldous Huxley
Perhaps it’s good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he’s happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life? — Aldous Huxley, Antic Hay. (Kessinger Publishing May 2005) Originally published 1923.
W.H. Auden
How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. — W.H. Auden, from “The More Loving One,” Homage to Clio. (Random House 1960)
Geoff Dyer
That is probably the most painful part: when you are still tormented by the thought that one last effort of will might improve things. — Geoff Dyer, The Colour of Memory (Canongate Books, 2012)
Denise Levertov
It seems at times I want nothing, no human giving and taking. Nothing I see fails to give pleasure, no thirst for righteousness dries my throat, I am silent and happy and troubled only by my own happiness. — Denise Levertov, from “By Rail through the Earthly Paradise, Perhaps Bedfordshire,” Footprints (New Directions, 1972)
The Vale of Soul-Making 