Time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future.

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.

In my beginning is my end.

I suspect that in our loathing of totalitarianism, there is infused a good deal of admiration for its efficiency.

Our emotions Are only “incidents” In the effort to keep day and night together.

If we are moved by a poem, it has meant something, perhaps something important, to us; if we are not moved, then it is, as poetry, meaningless.

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.