It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.

Artistic inevitability lies in the complete adequacy of the external to the emotion.

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 will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.

Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment.

Whatever you do, don't whimper, but take the consequences.