A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.

When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experience ?in the mind of the poet these experiences are always forming new wholes.

Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.

i will show you fear in a handful of dust." t.s. eliot we don't actually fear death, we fear that no one will notice our absence, that we will disappear without a trace.

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

The dream crossed twilight between birth and dying.

I say to you: Make perfect your will. / I say: take no thought of the harvest, / But only of proper sowing.