If Anything Might Hurt Her, Silence Would;

We All Write Poems; It Is Simply That Poets Are The Ones Who Write In Words.

Duty Largely Consists Of Pretending That The Trivial Is Critical.

If Anything Might Hurt Her, Silence Would; And I Wanted To Hurt Her.

The Supposed Great Misery Of Our Century Is The Lack Of Time; Our Sense Of That, Not A Disinterested Love Of Science, And Certainly Not Wisdom, Is Why We Devote Such A Huge Proportion Of The Ingenuity And Income Of Our Societies To Finding Faster Ways Of Doing Things - As If The Final Aim Of Mankind Was To Grow Closer Not To A Perfect Humanity, But To A Perfect Lightning-flash.

In Essence The Renaissance Was Simply The Green End Of One Of Civilization's Hardest Winters.