God bless the roots! Body and soul are one.
Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.
Time marks us while we are marking time.
And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.
Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.
What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?