What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident? And are there not moods which need heaven, hell, purgatory, and faeryland for their expression, no less than this dilapidated earth? Nay, are there not moods which shall find no expression unless there be men who dare to mix heaven, hell, purgatory, and faeryland together, or even to set the heads of beasts to the bodies of men, or to thrust the souls of men into the heart of rocks?
In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. (没有小大之辩)
...moth fluttering along the edge of the tide, just at the end of evening or the beginning of dawn. (跟随意大利走私船来到爱尔兰的一只飞蛾)
Fable, who changes mortalities to immortalities in her cauldron,...
I saw Purgatory. It seemed to be in a level place, and no walls around... (想起荒原附录里评论Eliot，也提到人间是炼狱，世界是平的hhhh)
...free from the interruption of sight, his mind became a perfect echoing chamber, where every movement of the day and every change of public passion whispered itself into rhyme or quaint saying. (荷马式的说书人，后面写到爱吃caper sauce，发现饭桌上没有的时候还会生气地向妻子甩羊腿hhhh)
...the imagination of the people dwells rather upon the fantastic and capricious, and fantasy and caprice would lose the freedom which is their breath of life, were they to unite them either with evil or with good.
...with no theories to blur the history. Theories are poor things at the best, and the bulk of mine have perished long ago. I love better than any theory the sound of the Gate of Ivory, turning upon its hinges, and hold that he alone who has passed the rose-strewn threshold can catch the far glimmer of the Gate of Horn. （从真之径）
roomy woods (真是好听)
Cats were serpents, and they were made into cats at the time of some great change in the world. That is why they are hard to kill, and why it is dangerous to meddle with them. If you annoy a cat it might claw or bite you in a way that would put poison in you, and that would be the serpent's tooth. （猫从蛇变来的？嗯？？）
If beauty is not a gateway out of the net we were taken in at our birth, it will not long be beauty, and we will find it better to sit at home by the fire and fatten a lazy body or to run hither and thither in some foolish sport than to look at the finest show that light and shadow ever made among green leaves.
...some day we shall fight dragons among blue hills, or come to that whereof all romance is but Foreshadowings mingled with the images of man's misdeeds in greater days than these, as the old men thought in The Earthly Paradise when they were in good spirits.
It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions.
...until God shall burn up the world with a kiss. （以吻焚灭此世）
...sat innumerable apes eating precious stones out of the palms of their hands. The stones glittered green and crimson, and the apes devoured them with an insatiable hunger. I knew that I saw the Celtic Hell, and my own Hell, the Hell of the artist, and that all who sought after beautiful and wonderful things with too avid a thirst, lost peace and form and became shapeless and common. （Yeats的地狱篇）
...demons of all kinds of shapes—fish-like, serpent-like, ape-like, and dog-like-sitting about a black pit such as that in my own Hell, and looking at a moon-like reflection of the Heavens which shone up from the depths of the pit.
leave them yet a little hour to do good and evil in, and to watch old Time telling the rosary of the stars.（"凝视那古老时光捻动着星辰的念珠诵颂玫瑰经。"）
I seemed to hear a voice of lamentation out of the Golden Age. It told me that we are imperfect, incomplete, and no more like a beautiful woven web, but like a bundle of cords knotted together and flung into a corner.
What else can death be but the beginning of wisdom and power and beauty? and foolishness may be a kind of death.The self, which is the foundation of our knowledge, is broken in pieces by foolishness, and is forgotten in the sudden emotions of women, and therefore fools may get, and women do get of a certainty, glimpses of much that sanctity finds at the end of its painful journey. (想起《喧哗与骚动》里Benji的视角)
Folk art is, indeed, the oldest of the aristocracies of thought, and because it refuses what is passing and trivial, the merely clever and pretty, as certainly as the vulgar and insincere, and because it has gathered into itself the simplest and most unforgetable thoughts of the generations, it is the soil where all great art is rooted. Wherever it is spoken by the fireside, or sung by the roadside, or carved upon the lintel, appreciation of the arts that a single mind gives unity and design to, spreads quickly when its hour is come.