Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you?

The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonored shroud.

Ash on an old man's sleeve / Is all the ash the burnt roses leave, / Dust in the air suspended / Marks the place where a story ended.

Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know.

It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.

A thousand policemen directing traffic cannot tell you why you come or where you go.