Quotes by Robert Graves

“Theres no money in poetry, but then theres no poetry in money, either.”

“One smile relieves a heart that grievesthough deadly sad it be,and one hard look Can close the book that lovers love to see.”

“Intuition is the supra-logic that cuts out all the routine processes of thought and leaps straight from the problem to the answer.”

“If I were a girl, Id despair. The supply of good women far exceeds that of the men who deserve them.”

“The remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he really is very good, in spite of all the people who say he is very good.”

“I believe that every English poet should read the English classics, master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them, travel abroad, experience the horror of sordid passion and-if he is lucky enough-know the love of an honest woman.”

“A remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he is really very good in spite of all the people who say he is very good.”

“Love is a universal migraine / A bright stain on the vision / Blotting out reason.”

“Kill if you must, but never hate: Man is but grass and hate is blight, The sun will scorch you soon or late, Die wholesome then, since you must fight”

“We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall”

“Bullfight critics row on row crowd the enormous plaza de toros, but only one is there who knows, and hes the one who fights the bull.”

When the immense drugged universe explodesIn a cascade of unendurable colourAnd leaves us gasping naked,This is no more than the ectasy of chaos:Hold fast, with both hands, to that royal loveWhich alone, as we know certainly, restoresFragmentation into true being.Ecstasy of Chaos

There’s no money in poetry, but there’s no poetry in money, either

About this business of being a gentleman: I paid so heavily for the fourteen years of my gentleman’s education that I feel entitled, now and then, to get some sort of return.

I was thinking, So, I’m Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least Ill be able to make people read my books now.

England looked strange to us returned soldiers. We could not understand the war-madness that ran wild everywhere, looking for a pseudo-military outlet. The civilians talked a foreign language. I found serious conversation with my parents all but impossible.

The conversation was like the sort one has in dreams—mad but interesting.

There is no money in poetry, but then there is no poetry in money.

I am supposed to be an utter fool and the more I read the more of a fool they think me.

To resist the social pressure now put even on ones leisure time, requires a tougher upbringing and a more obstinate willfulness about going ones own way, than ever before.