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My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain.

W. H. Auden

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W. H. Auden
Age: 66 †
Born: 1907
Born: February 21
Died: 1973
Died: September 28
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Wystan Hugh Auden
Wystan Auden
Wystan H Auden
W. H. Wystan Hugh Auden
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More quotes by W. H. Auden

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A poet is a professional maker of verbal objects.
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In the deserts of the heart Let the healing fountain start.
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To me Art's subject is the human clay, / And landscape but a background to a torso / All Cezanne's apples I would give away / For one small Goya or a Daumier.
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Learn from your dreams what you lack.
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Human beings are, necessarily, actors who...can be divided...into the sane who know they are acting and the mad who do not.
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'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
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Alone, alone, about the dreadful wood / Of conscious evil runs a lost mankind, / Dreading to find its Father.
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A vice in common can be the ground of a friendship but not a virtue in common. X and Y may be friends because they are both drunkards or womanizers but, if they are both sober and chaste, they are friends for some other reason.
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Detective stories have nothing to do with works of art.
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Marriage is rarely bliss But, surely it would be worse As particles to pelt At thousands of miles per sec About a universe In which a lover's kiss Would either not be felt Or break the loved one's neck.
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The commonest ivory tower is that of the average man, the state of passivity towards experience.
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Poetry is the only art people haven't learned to consume like soup.
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I just try to put the thing out and hope somebody will read it. Someone says: 'Whom do you write for?' I reply: 'Do you read me?' If they say 'Yes,' I say, 'Do you like it?' If they say 'No,' then I say, 'I don't write for you.'
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The ear tends to be lazy, craves the familiar and is shocked by the unexpected the eye, on the other hand, tends to be impatient, craves the novel and is bored by repetition.
W. H. Auden
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The lights must never go out, The music must always play
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It is, for example, 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.
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By mourning tongues The death of the poet was kept from his poems.
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The trees encountered on a country stroll Reveal a lot about that country's soul ... A culture is no better than its woods.
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One rational voice is dumb: over a grave The household of Impulse mourns one dearly loved. Sad is Eros, builder of cities, And weeping anarchic Aphrodite.
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The habit-forming pain, Mismanagement and grief: We must suffer them all again.
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