You will find that you survive humiliation. And that's an experience of incalculable value.

At the beach - time you enjoyed wasting, is not wasted.

One starts an action simply because one must do something.

All time is unreedemable.

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror Of which the tongues declare The one discharge from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre- To be redeemed from fire by fire. Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire.

Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.