I Read, Much Of The Night, And

The Old Should Be Explorers, Be Curious, Risk Transgression, Explore Oldness Itself.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly And Paces About Her Room Again, Alone, She Smooths Her Hair With Automatic Hand, And Puts A Record On The Gramophone.

My Life Is Light, Waiting For The Death Wind, Like A Feather On The Back Of My Hand.

Television Is A Medium Of Entertainment Which Permits Millions Of People To Listen To The Same Joke At The Same Time, And Yet Remain Lonesome.

History May Be Servitude. History May Be Freedom. See, Now They Vanish. The Faces And Places, With The Self Which, As It Could, Loved Them, To Become Renewed, Transfigured, In Another Pattern.