Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate$$$ no lock$$$ no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
Anon$$$ who wrote so many poems without signing them$$$ was often a woman.
My belief is that if we live another century or so — I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals — and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky$$$ too$$$ and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton's bogey$$$ for no human being shoul
Why$$$ if it was an illusion$$$ not praise the catastrophe$$$ whatever it was$$$ that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?
Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books$$$ hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast. By hook or by crook$$$ I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle$$$ to contemplate the future or the past of the world$$$ to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.
One cannot think well$$$ love well$$$ sleep well$$$ if one has not dined well.
Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.
Travel was a species of warfare.
I rather mistrust young men who slip into life gracefully.