Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you?

My mind may be American but my heart is British.

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-

Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone.

Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?

All dash to and fro in motor cars. Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere.

There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labelled.