What is all this juice and all this joy?
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!
Searching nature I taste self but at one tankard, that of my own being.
When I compare myself, my being-myself, with anything else whatever, all things alike, all in the same degree, rebuff me with blank unlikeness.
What you look at hard seems to look at you.
All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose.