There goes a river dragging an ocean behind it.
I am yours. Don't give myself back to me.
Earth tries to work sorcery on us, saying Tomorrow, Tomorrow, but we outwit that spell by enjoying this now.
One day you will take me completely out of myself, I'll do what the angels cannot do. Your eyelash will write on my cheek the poem that hasn't been thought of.
The Past, the Future, O dear, is from you; you should regard both these as one.
The body's a mirror of heaven: Its energies make angels jealous. Our purity astounds seraphim. Devils shiver at our nerve.