Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin.

All time is eternal, moving inexorably toward an end which we believe is a result of our actions, but over which our control is mere illusion.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.

In my beginning is my end.

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

The Nobel is a ticket to one's own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it.

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.