History may be servitude. History may be freedom. See, now they vanish. The faces and places, with the self which, as it could, loved them, to become renewed, transfigured, in another pattern.
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
The definition of hell is a place where nothing connects with nothing.
In the last few years everything I'd done up to sixty or so has seemed very childish.
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.