This is the feeling for syllable and rhythm, penetrating far below the conscious levels of thought and feeling, invigorating every word.

The darkness declares the glory of light.

Genuine blasphemy, genuine in spirit and not purely verbal, is the product of partial belief, and is as impossible to the complete atheist as to the perfect Christian.

A good poet will usually borrow from authors remote in time, or alien in language, or diverse in interest.

The great ages did not contain the best talent, they wasted less.

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river is a strong brown god-sullen, untamed and intractable, Patient to some degree, at first recognized as a frontier; Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce; Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges. The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten By the dwellers in cities-ever, however, implacable. Keeping his seasons, and rages, destroyer, reminder Of what men choose to forget. Unhonored, unpropitiated By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.

At the still point, there the dance is.