Humankind Can't Stand Too Much Reality.

At The Still Point, There The Dance Is.

Men Have Left God Not For Other Gods, They Say, But For No God; And This Has Never Happened Before.

I Am Moved By Fancies That Are Curled, Around These Images And Cling, The Notion Of Some Infinitely Gentle, Infinitely Suffering Thing.

Life Is Long Between The Desire And The Spasm.

The Communication Of The Dead Is Tongued With Fire Beyond The Language Of The Living.