Date: 1918

"He had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it."

— Eliot, T. S. (1888-1965)

Date: 1918

"Mr. Chesterton's brain swarms with ideas; I see no evidence that it thinks."

— Eliot, T. S. (1888-1965)

Date: 1919

"HANDS, do what you're bid; / Bring the balloon of the mind / That bellies and drags in the wind / Into its narrow shed."

— Yeats, W. B. (1865-1939)

Date: 1919

"My memories simply trooped the colour."

— Cummings, Bruce Frederick [pseud. W. N. P. Barbellion] (1889-1919)

Date: 1919

"Every man is an inexhaustible treasury of human personality. He can go on burrowing in it for an eternity if he have the desire--and a taste for introspection."

— Cummings, Bruce Frederick [pseud. W. N. P. Barbellion] (1889-1919)

Date: 1919

"In default of others, I am myself my own spectator and self-appreciator--critical, discerning, vigilant, fond!--my own stupid Boswell, shrewd if silly. This spectator of mine, it seems to me, must be a very moral gentleman and eminently superior. His incessant attentions, while I go on my way mi...

— Cummings, Bruce Frederick [pseud. W. N. P. Barbellion] (1889-1919)

Date: 1919

"I never cease to interest myself in the Gothic architecture of my own fantastic soul."

— Cummings, Bruce Frederick [pseud. W. N. P. Barbellion] (1889-1919)

Date: 1920

"To use a metaphor, it is as if the activity of the suppressed body of experience is accompanied by an affective disturbance which boils over on certain occasions, so that some of the steam reaches the conscious level, while the main disturbance still continues to be wholly cut off from conscious...

— Rivers, William H. R. (1864-1922)

Date: 1920

"The world is wide and yet it is like a home, for the fire that burns in the soul is of the same essential nature as the stars; the world and the self, the light and the fire, are sharply distinct, yet they never become permanent strangers to one another, for fire is the soul of all light and all...

— Lukács, Georg (1885-1971)

Date: 1921

"I know what my heart is like / Since your love died: / It is like a hollow ledge / Holding a little pool / Left there by the tide, / A little tepid pool, / Drying inward from the edge."

— Millay, Edna St. Vincent (1892-1950)