People exercise an unconscious selection in being influenced.
What is true, is true only for one time and only for one place.
People find a way in which they can say something.
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice.
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair- Lean on a garden urn- Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
What is this self-inside us, this silent observer, severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us, and urge us onto futile activity, and in the end, judge us still more severely for the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?