What ye have been ye still shall be, When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!

Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.

Love comes unseen; we only see it go.

All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store and overplus - More had not Alcinous!

All passes, Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust out-lasts the throne,-- The coin, Tiberius.

Fame is a food that dead men eat, I have no stomach for such meat.

Old books, old wine, old Nankin blue;- All things, in short, to which belong The charm, the grace that Time makes strong, All these I prize, but (entre nous) Old friends are best!

He is a Patron who looks down, / With careless eyes on men who drown; / But if they chance to reach the land, / Encumbers them with helping hand

In merest prudence men should teach . . . That science ranks as monstrous things Two pairs of upper limbs; so wings-- E'en Angel's wings!--are fictions.

Time goes you say? Ah no! Alas Time stays we go.

Love comes unseen we only see it go.

If every library is in some sense a reflection of its readers, it is also an image of that which we are not, and cannot be.

No Love will remain unfulfilled.

Tomorrow the mirrors will mock me

There can be little liking where there is no likeness.

The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong.

There is no algorithm for creativity.

If you fake the funk, your nose will grow.

If you had to pick between one or the other, I can't say which one is better; but I would certainly say, in my orientation, the light of samadhi is all-pervasive. Samadhi will free you.

I and others may be revolutionaries but we are disciples of Mahatma Gandhi, directly or indirectly, nothing more nothing less.

We've been socialized with these concepts of love, intimacy, that have no bearing on reality.