These fragments I have shored against my ruins

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives.

There is, it seems to us, At best, only a limited value In the knowledge derived from experience.

There is no escape from metre; there is only mastery.

To each individual the world will take on a different connotation of meaning-the important lies in the desire to search for an answer.

But the Church cannot be, in any political sense, either conservative or liberal, or revolutionary. Conservatism is too often conservation of the wrong things: liberalism a relaxation of discipline; revolution a denial of the permanent things.

Every moment is a fresh beginning.