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Dance, dance, dance till you drop.
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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Jórvík
Wystan Hugh Auden
Wystan Auden
Wystan H Auden
W. H. Wystan Hugh Auden
Dancing
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Drop
Till
More quotes by W. H. Auden
Human language is mythological and metaphorical by nature.
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When one looks into the window of a store which sells devotional art objects, one can't help wishing the iconoclasts had won.
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To pray is to pay attention to something or someone other than oneself.
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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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Money cannot buy the fuel of love but is excellent kindling.
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Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.
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A daydream is a meal at which images are eaten. Some of us are gourmets, some gourmands, and a good many take their images precooked out of a can and swallow them down whole, absent-mindedly and with little relish.
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To be free is often to be lonely.
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A poet feels the impulse to create a work of art when the passive awe provoked by an event is transformed into a desire to express that awe in a rite of worship.
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The older lives like not to be stood in rows or at right angles.
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What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves.
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My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain.
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One cannot review a bad book without showing off.
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The sky is darkening like a stain Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers
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Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow Softly round your dreaming head Such a day of welcome show Eye and knocking heart may bless, Find our mortal world enough Noons of dryness find you fed By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass Watched by every human love.
W. H. Auden
The windiest militant trash Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have Not universal love But to be loved alone.
W. H. Auden
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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A person incapable of imaging another world than given to him by his senses would be subhuman, and a person who identifies his imaginary world with the world of sensory fact has become insane.
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If it form the one landscape that we the inconstant ones Are consistently homesick for, this is chiefly Because it dissolves in water.
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I think the first prerequisite to civilization is an ability to make polite conversation.
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