Funerals all over the world everywhere every minute. Shovelling them under by the cartload doublequick. Thousands every hour. Too many in the world.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
First kiss does the trick. The propitious moment. Something inside them goes pop.
Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.
Desire’s wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.
Death is the highest form of life.
Coming events cast their shadows before.
Can’t bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
Ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies.
Art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
A woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out.
A nation is the same people living in the same place.
