Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance

Maturing as a poet means maturing as the whole man, experiencing new emotions appropriate to one's age, and with the same intensity as the emotions of youth.

The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started.

If time and space, as sages say, Are things which cannot be, The sun which does not feel decay No greater is than we. So why, Love, should we ever pray To live a century? The butterfly that lives a day Has lived eternity.

When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.

Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow

Our emotions Are only “incidents” In the effort to keep day and night together.