Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started.
We have all our private terrors, our particular shadows, our secret fears. We are afraid in a fear which we cannot face, which none understands, and our hearts are torn from us, our brains unskinned like the layers of an onion, ourselves the last.
I've been born, and once is enough.
Justice itself tends to be corrupted by political passion.
And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you I will show you fear in a handful of dust