The Usual Dog About The Town Is

The Historical Sense Involves A Perception, Not Only Of The Pastness Of The Past, But Of Its Presence

Love Is Most Nearly Itself When Here And Now Cease To Matter. Old Men Ought To Be Explorers Here Or There Does Not Matter We Must Be Still And Still Moving Into Another Intensity For A Further Union, A Deeper Communion Through The Dark Cold And The Empty Desolation, The Wave Cry, The Wind Cry, The Vast Waters Of The Petrel And The Porpoise.

There Is One Who Remembers The Way To Your Door: Life You May Evade, But Death You Shall Not.

Poetry Is Not A Turning Loose Of Emotion, But An Escape From Emotion.

Desire Itself Is Movement Not In Itself Desirable; Love Is Itself Unmoving, Only The Cause And End Of Movement, Timeless, And Undesiring Except In The Aspect Of Time Caught In The Form Of Limitation Between Un-being And Being.