The End Is Where We Start From.

Love Is Most Nearly Itself When Here And Now Cease To Matter.

Music Heard So Deeply That It Is Not Heard At All, But You Are The Music While The Music Lasts.

The Dripping Blood Our Only Drink, The Bloody Flesh Our Only Food: In Spite Of Which We Like To Think That We Are Sound, Substantial Flesh And Blood Again, In Spite Of That, We Call This Friday Good.

And All Shall Be Well And/ All Manner Of Thing Shall Be Well/ By The Purification Of The Motive/ In The Ground Of Our Beseeching

Except For The Point, The Still Point, There Would Be No Dance, And There Is Only The Dance