Justice itself tends to be corrupted by political passion.

Words strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden, Under the tension, slip, slide, perish, Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place, Will not stay still.

Tradition: how the vitality of the past enriches the life of the present.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word / Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence.

When the whole world is running headlong towards the precipice, one who walks in the opposite direction is looked at as being crazy.

In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.

In a mind charged with an eager purpose and an unfinished vindictiveness, there is no room for new feelings.