Cling, Swing, Spring, Sing, Swing

All Dash To And Fro In Motor Cars. Familiar With The Roads And Settled Nowhere.

For Last Year's Words Belong To Last Year's Language And Next Year's Words Await Another Voice.

It Is Worth While Dying, To Find Out What Life Is.

The Ordinary Man's Experience Is Chaotic, Irregular, Fragmentary. [he] Falls In Love Or Reads Spinoza, And These Two Experiences Have Nothing To Do With Each Other, Or With The Noise Of The Typewriter, Or The Smell Of Cooking; In The Mind Of The Poet These Experiences Are Always Forming New Wholes

A Philosophy Can And Must Be Worked Out With The Greatest Rigour And Discipline In The Details, But Can Ultimately Be Founded On Nothing But Faith: And This Is The Reason, I Suspect, Why The Novelties In Philosophy Are Only In Elaboration, And Never In Fundamentals.