It was enough for her that she remembered. - Wallace Stevens

Gloomy grammarians in golden gowns, Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous, Eliciting the still sustaining pomps Of speech which are like music so profound They seem an exaltation without sound.

To have nothing to say and to say it in a tragic manner is not the same thing as having something to say.

Slowly the ivy on the stones Becomes the stones. Women become The cities, children become the fields And men in waves become the sea.