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Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot read The hunter's waking thoughts.
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
Oh, how I wish that Orwell were still alive, so that I could read his comments on contemporary events!
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All the rest is silence On the other side of the wall, And the silence ripeness, And the ripeness all.
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Does God judge us by appearances? I Suspect that He does.
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Clear, unscaleable ahead, Rise the mountains of instead From whose cold, cascading streams None may drink except in dreams
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It's usually the stupid people that develop long illnesses. You need more than indolence and selfishness, you need endurance to make a good patient.
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Though one cannot always Remember exactly why one has been happy, There is no forgetting that one was.
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Anyone who has a child today should train him to be either a physicist or a ballet dancer. Then he'll escape.
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The basic stimulus to the intelligence is doubt, a feeling that the meaning of an experience is not self-evident.
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The surest sign that a man has a genuine taste of his own is that he is uncertain of it.
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About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters.
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Most people call something profound, not because it is near some important truth but because it is distant from ordinary life. Thus, darkness is profound to the eye, silence to the ear what-is-not is the profundity of what-is.
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Every poet has his dream reader: mine keeps a look out for curious prosodic fauna like bacchics and choriambs.
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The Americans are violently oral. That's why in America the mother is all-important and the father has no position at all -- isn't respected in the least. Even the American passion for laxatives can be explained as an oral manifestation. They want to get rid of any unpleasantness taken in through the mouth.
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You will be a poet because you will always be humiliated.
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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.
W. H. Auden
Even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life
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Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
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No being can make another one happy.
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We are lived by powers we pretend to understand.
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Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
W. H. Auden
