The bad poet is usually unconscious where he ought to be conscious, and conscious where he ought to be unconscious.

Quick now, here, now, always- A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one.

Sand. Everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, all over the floor. Grrrrr.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word / Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence.

Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you?

People find a way in which they can say something.

In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo.