It's Strange That Words Are So Inadequate.

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

No Poet, No Artist Of Any Art, Has His Complete Meaning Alone.

Justice Itself Tends To Be Corrupted By Political Passion.

I Don't Believe One Grows Older. I Think That What Happens Early On In Life Is That At A Certain Age One Stands Still And Stagnates.

The Church Must Be Forever Building, For It Is Forever Decaying Within And Attacked From Without.