The journey not the arrival matters.
This is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.
Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were a very notorious couple of cats.As knockabout clowns, quick-change comedians,Tight-rope walkers and acrobatsThey had an extensive reputation.[...]When the family asse...
Your burden is not to clear your conscienceBut to learn how to bear the burdens on your conscience.
You will go on, and when you have prevailedYou can say: at this point many a one has failed.But what have I, but what have I, my friend,To give you, what can you receive from me?Only the friendship an...
A condition of complete simplicity(Costing not less than everything)
We had the experience but missed the meaning.
Old Deuteronomy's lived a long time;He's a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.He was famous in proverb and famous in rhymeA long while before Queen Victoria's accession.Old Deuteronomy's burie...
Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.There is one who remembers the way to your door:Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.Yo...
What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity
The winter evening settles downWith smell of steaks in passageways.Six o'clock.The burnt-out ends of smoky days.And now a gusty shower wrapsThe grimy scrapsOf withered leaves about your feetAnd newspa...
Everyone’s alone—or so it seems to me.They make noises, and think they are talking to each other;They make faces, and think they understand each other,And I’m sure they don’t. Is that delusion?Can we...
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones — In fact, he's remarkably fat.He doesn't haunt pubs — he has eight or nine clubs,For he's the St. James's Street Cat!He's the Cat we all greet as he walks down t...
Till Human voices wake us, and we drown.
You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,And how, how rare and strange it is, to findIn a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,(For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are...
What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
Human kindCannot bear very much reality.-