There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.

The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.

music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While the music lasts.

The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable.

We are not here to triumph by fighting, by strata gem, or by resistance, not to fight with beasts as men. We have fought the beast and have conquered. We have only to conquer now, by suffering. This is the easier victory.

Those who talk of the bible as a monument of English prose are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity.