We knock upon silence for an answering music.
Around, around the sun we go:The moon goes round the earth.We do not die of death:We die of vertigo.
What is more important to a library than anything else -- than everything else -- is the fact that it ex
What is freedom? Freedom is the right to choose: the right to create for oneself the alternatives of choice.
If God is God He is not good,If God is good He is not God;Take the even, take the odd....
To love love and not its meaning, hardens the heart in monstrous ways..." (The Rape Of The Swan)Footnote : A form of self-edification, infatuation, lust and the epitome of hedonism.
And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth's noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night
Freedom is the right to one's dignity as a man.
The perversion of the mind is only possible when those who should be heard in its defence are silent.
What is more important to a library than anything else -- than everything else -- is the fact that it exists.", American Scholar; Washington, DC, June 5, 1972]
We have no choice but to be guilty God is unthinkable if we are innocent.
There are those who will say that the liberation of humanity, the freedom of man and mind is nothing but a dream. They are right. It is the American Dream.
A poem should not meanBut be.
When he was seventy-four years old the Cretan novelist Nikos Kazantzakis began a book. He called it Report to Greco... Kazantzakis thought of himself as a soldier reporting to his commanding officer o...
As things are now going, the peace we will make, the peace we seem to be making, will be a peace of oil, a peace of gold, a peace of shipping, a peace, in brief... without moral purpose or human inter...
What is more important to a library than anything else -- than everything else -- is the fact that it exists.
The business of the law is to make sense of the confusion of what we call human life - to reduce it to order but at the same time to give it possibility, scope, even dignity.
There is no dusk to be, There is no dawn that was,
Tell me, my patient friends, awaiters of messages.From what other shore, from what stranger,Whence, was the word to come? Who was to lesson you?Listeners under a child’s crib in a manger,Listeners onc...
What surfOf what far sea upon what unknown ground
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