Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

In the end is my beginning.

To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life.

Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.

I shall not want Honor in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney And have talk with Coriolanus And other heroes of that kidney.

The destination cannot be described; / You will know very little until you get there; / You will journey blind.