Art is the escape from personality.

When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not / You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill.

Philosophy: a purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.

Quick now, here, now, always- A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one.

Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance