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All that we are not stares back at what we are.

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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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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Good can imagine Evil but Evil cannot imagine Good.
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What the mass media offers is not popular art, but entertainment which is intended to be consumed like food, forgotten, and replaced by a new dish.
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The countenances of children, like those of animals, are masks, not faces, for they have not yet developed a significant profile of their own.
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History marched to the drums of a clear idea...
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In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.
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Time will say nothing but I told you so.
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In headaches and in worry Vaguely life leaks away, And Time will have his fancy To-morrow or today.
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No being can make another one happy.
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We are all here on earth to help others what on earth the others are here for I don't know.
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There is a certain kind of person who is so dominated by the desire to be loved for himself alone that he has constantly to test those around him by tiresome behavior what he says and does must be admired, not because it is intrinsically admirable, but because it is his remark, his act. Does not this explain a good deal of avant-garde art?
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He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
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In a game, just losing is almost as satisfying as just winning... In life the loser's score is always zero.
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Few can remember clearly when innocence came to a sudden end, the moment at which we ask for the first time: Am I loved?
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The chances are that, in the course of his lifetime, the major poet will write more bad poems than the minor, simply because major poets write a lot.
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One of the troubles of our times is that we are all, I think, precocious as personalities and backward as characters.
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About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters How well they understood Its human position how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.
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Out on the lawn I lie in bed, Vega conspicuous overhead.
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'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
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Without communication with the dead, a fully human life is not possible.
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