For he will do As he do do And there's no doing anything about it!

In the life of one man, never The same time returns.

The darkness declares the glory of light.

Cling, swing, Spring, sing, Swing up into the apple tree.

They don't understand what it is to be awake, / To be living on several planes at once / Though one cannot speak with several voices at once.

No generation is interested in art in quite the same way as any other; each generation, like each individual, brings to the contemplation of art its own categories of appreciation, makes its own demands upon art, and has its own uses for art.

All art emulates the condition of ritual. That is what it comes from and to that it must always return for nourishment.