If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?