Venice is eternity itself.

It's a maddening thing in itself to look at an old poem of yours. To translate it is even more maddening.

By failing to read or listen to poets, society dooms itself to inferior modes of articulation: those of the politician, the salesman or the charlatan... In other words, it forfeits its own evolutionary potential.

Eternity! thou pleasing dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

The experience of eternity right here and now is the function of life. Heaven is not the place to have the experience; here is the place to have the experience.