Phoebe Braithwaite - my quote collection

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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it.
Verses which do not teach men new and moving truths do not deserve to be read.
Think where man's glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.
Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
The intellect of man is forced to choose perfection of the life, or of the work, and if it take the second must refuse a heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.
An asylum for the sane would be empty in America.
The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business.
A book is like a man -- clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly. For every flowering thought there will be a page like a wet and mangy mongrel, and for every looping flight a tap on the wing and a reminder that wax cannot hold the feathers firm too near the sun.
If you're in trouble, or hurt or need -- go to the poor people. They're the only ones that'll help -- the only ones.
In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.
They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say -- and to feel -- Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought.
We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love object or its love.
To be able to say how much love, is love but little.
The discipline of the written word punishes both stupidity and dishonesty.
No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.

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