At The Still Point, There The Dance

Artistic Inevitability Lies In The Complete Adequacy Of The External To The Emotion.

And Through The Spaces Of The Dark Midnight Shakes The Memory As A Madman Shakes A Dead Geranium.

But It Seems That Something Has Happened That Has Never Happened Before: Though We Know Not Just When, Or Why, Or How, Or Where.

Destiny Waits In The Hand Of God, Not In The Hands Of Statesmen.

Weave, Weave The Sunlight In Your Hair-