All Time Is Unreedemable.

People Find A Way In Which They Can Say Something.

Time Present And Time Past / Are Both Perhaps Present In Time Future.

Men Have Left God Not For Other Gods, They Say, But For No God; And This Has Never Happened Before.

In The Faint Moonlight, The Grass Is Singing

Trying To Use Words, And Every Attempt Is A Wholly New Start, And A Different Kind Of Failure Because One Has Only Learnt To Get The Better Of Words For The Thing One No Longer Has To Say, Or The Way In Which One Is No Longer Disposed To Say It. And So Each Venture Is A New Beginning, A Raid On The Inarticulate With Shabby Equipment Always Deteriorating In The General Mess Of Imprecision Of Feeling.