“You are the music while the music lasts.”
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For love would be love of the wrong thing there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
