Day's Work Is Still To Do, Whatever

What, After All,is A Halo? It's Only One More Thing To Keep Clean.

Between Our Birth And Death We May Touch Understanding, As A Moth Brushes A Window With Its Wing

Poetry Has The Virtue Of Being Able To Say Twice As Much As Prose In Half The Time, And The Drawback, If You Do Not Give It Your Full Attention, Of Seeming To Say Half As Much In Twice The Time.

We Must Each Find Our Separate Meaning In The Persuasion Of Our Days Until We Meet In The Meaning Of The World.

How Can We Be Scrupulous In A Life Which, From Birth Onwards, Is So Determined To Wring Us Dry Of Any Serenity At All?