The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is incarnation. Here the impossible union of spheres of existence is actual. Here the past and future are conquered and reconciled.

Every moment is a new and shocking transvaluation of all we have ever been.

He is haunted by a demon, a demon against which he feels powerless, because in its first manifestation it has no face, no name, nothing; and the words, the poem he makes, are a kind of exorcism of this demon.

Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.

Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.