So I Find Words I Never Thought

We Know Too Much, And Are Convinced Of Too Little. Our Literature Is A Substitute For Religion, And So Is Our Religion.

We Have All Our Private Terrors, Our Particular Shadows, Our Secret Fears. We Are Afraid In A Fear Which We Cannot Face, Which None Understands, And Our Hearts Are Torn From Us, Our Brains Unskinned Like The Layers Of An Onion, Ourselves The Last.

Time Past And Time Future Allow But A Little Consciousness. To Be Conscious Is Not To Be In Time.

The Only Wisdom We Can Hope To Acquire Is The Wisdom Of Humility: Humility Is Endless. The Houses Are All Gone Under The Sea. The Dancers Are All Gone Under The Hill.

The Immature Poet Imitates, The Mature Poet Plagiarizes.