We must learn to suffer more.

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

There is, it seems to us, At best, only a limited value In the knowledge derived from experience.

Because I know that time is always time and place is always place and only place. And what is actual is actual only for one time. And only for one place. I rejoice that things are as they are.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still

If we are moved by a poem, it has meant something, perhaps something important, to us; if we are not moved, then it is, as poetry, meaningless.

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