I think of you so often you have no idea. - James Joyce

Thought is the thought of thought.

Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. It speaks of what seems fantastic and unreal to those who have lost the simple intuitions which are the test of reality; and, as it is often found at war with its age, so it makes no account of history, which is fabled by the daughters of memory.

What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours.