...the Still Point In A Turning World.

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.

To Men Of A Certain Type The Suspicion That They Are Incapable Of Loving Is As Disturbing To Their Self-esteem As, In Cruder Men, The Fear Of Impotence.

All Time Is Unreedemable.

The Rum Turn Tugger Is A Terrible Bore: When You Let Him In, Then He Wants To Be Out; He's Always On The Wrong Side Of Every Door, And As Soon As He's At Home, Then He'd Like To Get About.

Cling, Swing, Spring, Sing, Swing Up Into The Apple Tree.