Between the vision and the act lies the shadow.

But it seems that something has happened that has never happened before: though we know not just when, or why, or how, or where.

Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.

Mediocre writers borrow; great writers steal.

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.

The circle of our understanding is a very restricted area.

The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror Of which the tongues declare The one discharge from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre- To be redeemed from fire by fire. Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire.