O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The young feel tired at the end of an action; The old at the beginning.
Think not forever of yourselves, O Chiefs, nor of your own generation. Think of continuing generations of our families, think of our grandchildren and of those yet unborn, whose faces are coming from beneath the ground.
So far as we are human, what we do must be either evil or good: so far as we do evil or good, we are human: and it is better, in a paradoxical way, to do evil than to do nothing – at least we exist.
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
Humankind cannot stand very much reality.
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
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