“In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.”
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Death is the mother of Beauty hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.
To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.
After the final no there comes a yes and on that yes the future of the world hangs.
It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up with boredom.
