Where There Is No Temple There Shall

We Have Lingered In The Chambers Of The Sea By Sea-girls Wreathed With Seaweed Red And Brown Till Human Voices Wake Us... And We Drown.

Playwriting Gets Into Your Blood And You Can't Stop It. At Least Not Until The Producers Or The Public Tell You To.

I Would Meet You Upon This Honestly. I That Was Near Your Heart Was Removed Therefrom To Lose Beauty In Terror, Terror In Inquisition. I Have Lost My Passion: Why Should I Need To Keep It Since What Is Kept Must Be Adulterated? I Have Lost My Sight, Smell, Hearing, Taste And Touch: How Should I Use Them For Your Closer Contact?

Not Only Every Great Poet, But Every Genuine, But Lesser Poet, Fulfils Once For All Some Possibility Of Language, And So Leaves One Possibility Less For His Successors.

Winter Kept Us Warm, Covering Earth In Forgetful Snow