Those who arrive at the end of the journey are not those who began.

In a world of fugitives the one who stays home will seem to be running away

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

My name is only an anagram of toilets.

Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.

Uncorseted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.