In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing

Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

Home is where one starts from.

Poetry should help, not only to refine the language of the time, but to prevent it from changing too rapidly.

We fight to keep something alive rather than in the expectation that anything will triumph.