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W. H. Auden quotes about love

English Poet February 21, 1907 – September 29, 1973

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A. E. Housman'No one, not even Cambridge was to blame(Blame if you like the human situation): Heart-injured in North London, he became. The Latin Scholar of his generation. Deliberately he chose the dry-as-dust, Kept tears like dirty postcards in a drawer; Food was his public love, his private lust. Something to do with violence and the poor. In savage foot-notes on unjust editions. He timidly attacked the life he led, And put the money of his feelings on. The uncritical relations of the... W. H. Auden
Part came from Lane, and part from D. H. Lawrence; Gide, though I didn't know it then, gave part. They taught me to express my deep abhorrence. If I caught anyone preferring Art. To Life and Love and being Pure-in-heart. I lived with crooks but seldom was molested; The Pure-in-heart can never be arrested. W. H. Auden
When I try to imagine a faultless love. Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur. Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape. W. H. Auden
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
Narcissus does not fall in love with his reflection because it is beautiful but because it is his. If it were his beauty that enthralled him, he would be set free in a few years by its fading. "After all," sighed Narcissus the hunchback, "on me it looks good. The contemplation of his reflection does not turn Narcissus into Priapus: the spell in which he is trapped is not a desire for himself but the satisfaction of not desiring the nymphs. "I prefer my pistol to my p…," said Narcissus; "it... W. H. Auden
Cassio is a ladies’ man, that is to say, a man who feels most at home in feminine company where his looks and good manners make him popular, but is ill at ease in the company of his own sex because he is unsure of his own masculinity. […] Cassio is a ladies’ man, not a seducer. With women of his own class, what he enjoys is socialized eroticism; he would be frightened of a serious personal passion. For physical sex he goes to prostitutes and when, unexpectedly, Bianca falls in love with him,... W. H. Auden
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum. Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead. Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 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 for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out... W. H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty... W. H. Auden
There must always be two kinds of art: escape-art, for man needs escape as he needs food and deep sleep, and parable-art, that art which shall teach man to unlearn hatred and learn love. W. H. Auden
All I have is a voice to undo the folded lie, the romantic lie in the brain of the sensual man-in-the-street and the lie of Authority whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State and no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice to the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die. 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
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. W. H. Auden
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river I heard a lover sing. Under an arch of the railway: 'Love has no ending.'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street,'I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry. And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky. W. H. Auden
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
There is no such thing as the State. And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice. To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die. W. H. Auden

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