A poem is this:/A nuance of sound/delicately operating/upon a cataract of sense/...the particulars/of a song waking/upon a bed of sound.

beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.

It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages.

Death will be too late to bring us aid.

One thing I am convinced more and more is true, and that is this: The only way to be truly happy is to make others happy. When you realize that and take advantage of the fact, everything is made perfect.

For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.

Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.