The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.
The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
The past is a bucket of ashes
I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud.
Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.