The heads of strong old age are beautiful beyond all grace of youth.

Seagulls . . . slim yachts of the element.

Pleasure is the carrot dangled to lead the ass to market; or the precipice.

Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.

There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life's end is death.

[K]now that however ugly the parts appear the whole remains beautiful. A severed hand Is an ugly thing, and man dissevered from the earth and stars and his history... for contemplation or in fact... Often appears atrociously ugly. Integrity is wholeness, the greatest beauty is Organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty of the universe.

Shiva... is the only hunter that will ever catch the wild swan; The prey she will take last is the wild white swan of the beauty of things. Then she will be alone, pure destruction, achieved and supreme, Empty darkness under the death-tent wings. She will build a nest of the swan's bones and hatch a new brood, Hang new heavens with new birds, all be renewed.