In My Beginning Is My End.

The Hippopotamus's Day Is Passed In Sleep; At Night He Hunts; God Works In A Mysterious Way- The Church Can Sleep And Feed At Once.

Between The Idea And The Reality Between The Motion And The Act Falls The Shadow

The Winter Evening Settles Down With Smell Of Steaks In Passageways.

Words Strain, Crack, And Sometime Break, Under The Burden.

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