Author: Richard (220.196.255.---)
Date: 12-22-05 07:14
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But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O! what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what\'s so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement; art is great
matter. Art is an organ of human life, transmitting man\'s reasonable
perception into feeling. In our age the common religious perception of men
is the consciousness of the brotherhood of man-we know that the well-being
of man lies in the union with his fellow men. True science should indicate
the various methods of applying this consciousness to life. Art should
transform this perception into feeling.
My greatest trouble is getting the curtain up and down.
T. S. Eliot
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage which we did not take, towards the door we never opened Into the
T. S. Eliot