No generation is interested in art in quite the same way as any other; each generation, like each individual, brings to the contemplation of art its own categories of appreciation, makes its own demands upon art, and has its own uses for art.

In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.

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

Every moment is a fresh beginning.

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

After such knowledge, what forgiveness?

Survival is your strength not your shame.