Human kind cannot bear very much reality.
Home is where one starts from.
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors and issues.
Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
Friendship should be more than biting Time can sever.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.
Footfalls echo in the memory down the passage which we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose-garden.
Everyone’s alone – or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other; They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I’m sure that they don’t. Is that a delusion?
Each way means loneliness – and communion.
Do I dare disturb the universe? In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Destiny waits in the hand of God, shaping the still unshapen.
Destiny waits in the hand of God, not in the hands of statesmen.
