I Gotta Use Words To Talk To

Where Is The Knowledge We Have Lost In Information?

Love Is Most Nearly Itself When Here And Now Cease To Matter. Old Men Ought To Be Explorers Here Or There Does Not Matter We Must Be Still And Still Moving Into Another Intensity For A Further Union, A Deeper Communion Through The Dark Cold And The Empty Desolation, The Wave Cry, The Wind Cry, The Vast Waters Of The Petrel And The Porpoise.

At The Still Point Of The Turning World. Neither Flesh Nor Fleshless; Neither From Nor Towards; At The Still Point, There The Dance Is.

In The Last Few Years Everything I'd Done Up To Sixty Or So Has Seemed Very Childish.

That Is Not It At All, That Is Not What I Meant, At All.