And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
When the whole world is running headlong towards the precipice, one who walks in the opposite direction is looked at as being crazy.
There will be time to murder and create.
No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.
All time is unreedemable.
It is impossible to design a system so perfect that no one needs to be good.