Platonic England, house of solitudes, rests in its laurels and its injured stone

- Geoffrey Hill

Thus I grind to conclusion.

- Geoffrey Hill

As estimated, you died. Things marched, sufficient, to that end. Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented terror, so many routine cries.

- Geoffrey Hill

... one of the things the tyrant most cunningly engineers is the gross over-simplification of language, because propaganda requires that the minds of…

- Geoffrey Hill

Snooki is a bestselling author? Huh? What? I don't know if I should dumb down my book, shoot myself or find a publisher who'll settle for a rough dra…

- Geoffrey Hill

Autumn resumes the land, ruffles the woods with smoky wings, entangles them.

- Geoffrey Hill

We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We're difficult to ourselves, we're difficult to each other. And we are mysteries to ourselves, we are …

- Geoffrey Hill

September fattens on vines. Roses flake from the wall. The smoke of harmless fires drifts to my eyes. This is plenty. This is more than enough.

- Geoffrey Hill

We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We’re difficult to ourselves, we’re difficult to each other.

- Geoffrey Hill