A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself. - E. M. Forster

It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air.

It is so difficult - at least, I find it difficult - to understand people who speak the truth.

She might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man. With it love is born, and alights on the highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober against the fire. Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of these outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his friends shall find easy-going.