"The Pisan Cantos" Quotes

What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; / Petals on a wet, black bough.

The ant's a centaur in his dragon world.

Pull down thy vanity, it is not man

What thou lovest well is thy true heritage

And the days are not full enough

I have tried to write Paradise

The enormous tragedy of the dream in the peasant's bent shoulders

A broken arch, where a whole city had gathered

There died a myriad, / And of the best, among them, / For an old bitch gone in the teeth, / For a botched civilization