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Men will pay large sums to whores for telling them they are not bores.

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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Literary Critic
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Jórvík
Wystan Hugh Auden
Wystan Auden
Wystan H Auden
W. H. Wystan Hugh Auden
Whores
Sums
Bores
Telling
Large
Pay
Men

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I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return.
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Every high C accurately struck demolishes the theory that we are the irresponsible puppets of fate or chance.
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A god who is both self-sufficient and content to remain so could not interest us enough to raise the question of his existence.
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Moreover, if great men are the only hope of the Evolutionary Process, they are morally bound to rule over the masses for their own good -- we are all here on earth to help others: what on earth the others are here for, I don't know -- and the masses have no right whatsoever to resist them.
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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 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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A writer is a maker, not a man of action: his private life is of no concern to anybody but himself, his family and his friends.
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All pity is self-pity.
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a culture is no better than its woods
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We are lived by powers we pretend to understand.
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For time is inches And the heart's changes, Where ghost has haunted Lost and wanted.
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See without looking, hear without listening, breathe without asking.
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Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm.
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When I am in the company of scientists, I feel like a shabby curate who has strayed by mistake into a drawing room full of dukes.
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To choose what is difficult all one's days, as if it were easy, that is faith
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Without communication with the dead, a fully human life is not possible.
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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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Look if you like, but you will have to leap.
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Adjectives are the potbelly of poetry.
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August for the people and their favourite islands. Daily the steamers sidle up to meet The effusive welcome of the pier.
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