A Crowd Flowed Over London Bridge, So

All Dash To And Fro In Motor Cars. Familiar With The Roads And Settled Nowhere.

Shape Without Form, Shade Without Color, Paralyzed Force, Gesture Without Motion; Those Who Have Crossed With Direct Eyes, To Death's Other Kingdom Remember Us-if At All-not As Lost Violent Souls, But Only As The Hollow Men The Stuffed Men.

I Take As Metaphysical Poetry That In Which What Is Ordinarily Apprehensible Only By Thought Is Brought Within The Grasp Of Feeling, Or That In Which What Is Ordinarily Only Felt Is Transformed Into Thought Without Ceasing To Be Feeling.

Humor Is Also A Way Of Saying Something Serious.

If You Do Not Push The Boundaries, You Will Never Know Where They Are.