Talent Imitates, But Genius Steals.

A Good Half Of The Effort Of Understanding What The Indian Philosophers Were After - And Their Subtleties Make Most Of The Great European Philosophers Look Like Schoolboys.

The Soul Of Man Must Quicken To Creation.

I Am Tired With My Own Life And The Lives Of Those After Me, I Am Dying In My Own Death And The Deaths Of Those After Me.

The Dove Descending Breaks The Air With Flame Of Incandescent Terror Of Which The Tongues Declare The One Discharge From Sin And Error. The Only Hope, Or Else Despair Lies In The Choice Of Pyre Or Pyre- To Be Redeemed From Fire By Fire. Who Then Devised The Torment? Love. Love Is The Unfamiliar Name Behind The Hands That Wove The Intolerable Shirt Of Flame Which Human Power Cannot Remove. We Only Live, Only Suspire Consumed By Either Fire Or Fire.

And Indeed There Will Be Time To Wonder, 'do I Dare?', And 'do I Dare?