Man has created death.

It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

What do we know but that we face one another in this place?