Now that the lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room

If one has to earn a living, therefore, the safest occupation is that most remote from the arts.

All time is unreedemable.

The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.

In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth Which is already flesh, fur and faeces, Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.

Sensibility alters from generation to generation in everybody, whether we will or no; but expression is only altered by a man of genius.

He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience.