At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement. And do not all it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

There are three conditions which often look alike Yet differ completely, flourish in the same hedgerow: Attachment to self and to things and to persons, detachment From self and from things and from persons; and, growing between them, indifference, ... .

There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.

I can connect Nothing with nothing

Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it

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

Those who talk of the bible as a monument of English prose are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity.