For Last Year's Words Belong To Last

The Past And Future / Are Conquered, And Reconciled.

For Every Life And Every Act Consequence Of Good And Evil Can Be Shown And As In Time Results Of Many Deeds Are Blended So Good And Evil In The End Become Confounded.

The Poet's Mind Is In Fact A Receptacle For Seizing And Storing Up Numberless Feelings, Phrases, Images, Which Remain There Until All The Particles Which Can Unite To Form A New Compound Are Present Together.

I Will Show You Fear In A Handful Of Dust.

Can We Only Love Something Created In Our Own Imaginations?