All great art is born of the metropolis.

Adolf Hitler was a Jeanne d'Arc, a saint. He was a martyr. Like many martyrs, he held extreme views.

The real trouble with war (modern war) is that it gives no one a chance to kill the right people.

Poetry is a sort of inspired mathematics, which gives us equations, not for abstract figures, triangles, squares, and the like, but for the human emotions. If one has a mind which inclines to magic rather than science, one will prefer to speak of these equations as spells or incantations; it sounds more arcane, mysterious, recondite.

And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass

From the colour the nature And by the nature the sign! Beatific spirits welding together As in one ash-tree in Ygdrasail.

I would hold the rosy, slender fingers of the dawn for you.