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| There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music. |
| Feelings; Music |
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| There is not a more repulsive spectacle than on old man who will not forsake the world, which has already forsaken him. |
| Uncategorized |
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| There is nothing that will kill a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with but himself. |
| Faults |
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| There is one order of beauty which seems made to turn heads. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle. |
| Beauty |
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| There's no vocabulary For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent. |
| Uncategorized |
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| Think not forever of yourselves, O Chiefs, nor of your own generation. Think of continuing generations of our families, think of our grandchildren and of those yet unborn, whose faces are coming from beneath the ground. |
| Generations |
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| This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper. |
| Uncategorized |
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| This love is silent. |
| Love |
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| Those who talk of the Bible as a 'monument of English prose' are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity. |
| Uncategorized |
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| Time past and time future what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present. |
| Uncategorized |
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| Time present and time past / Are both perhaps present in time future, / And time future contained in time past. |
| Uncategorized |
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| To approach the stranger is to invite the unexpected, release a new force, let the genie out of the bottle. It is to start a new train of events that is beyond your control... |
| Control; Events |
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| To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life. |
| Life |
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| To hear the latest Pole / transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. |
| Uncategorized |
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| Twentieth-century art may start with nothing, but it flourishes by virtue of its belief in itself, in the possibility of control over what seems essentially uncontrollable, in the coherence of the inchoate, and in its ability to create its own values. |
| Uncategorized |
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| Uncorseted, her friendly bust / Gives promise of pneumatic bliss. |
| Uncategorized |
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