We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.
Between the vision and the act lies the shadow.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.
Light Light The visible reminder of Invisible Light.
In the last few years everything I'd done up to sixty or so has seemed very childish.