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Beauty is momentary in the mind --

The fitful tracing of a portal;

But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives.

So evenings die, in their green going,

A wave, interminably flowing.

-- Peter Quince at the Clavier, Wallace Stevens (1923)

Vertigo -- Adrienne Rich As for me, I distrust the commonplace; Demand and am receiving marvels, signs, Miracles wrought in air, acted in space After imagination's own designs. The lion and the tiger pace this way As often as I call; the flight of wings Surprises empty air, while out of clay The golden-gourded vine unwatered springs. I have inhaled impossibility, And walk at such an angle, all the stars Have hung their carnival chains of light for me: There is a streetcar runs from here to Mars. I shall be seeing you, my darling, there, Or at the burning bush in Harvard Square. A blue pigeon it is, that circles the blue sky, On sidelong wing, around and round and round. A white pigeon it is, that flutters to the ground, Grown tired of flight. Like a dark rabbi, I Observed, when young, the nature of mankind, In lordly study. Every day, I found Man proved a gobbet in my mincing world. Like a rose rabbi, later, I pursued, And still pursue, the origin and course Of love, but until now I never knew That fluttering things have so distinct a shade. -- Le Monocle de Mon Oncle, Wallace Stevens (1923) God breaketh not all men's hearts alike. -- Richard Baxter. If you give me six lines written by the most honest man, I will find something in them to hang him. -- Cardinal Richelieu

You've gotta help us, Doc. We've tried nothing and we're all out of ideas. --Homer Simpson

Friar Barnadine: "Thou hast committed --"

Barabas: "Fornication -- but that was in another country; / And besides, the wench is dead."

-- The Jew of Malta, Christopher Marlowe

Weep no more, woful Shepherds weep no more,

For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar,

So sinks the day-star in the Ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams and with new-spangled Ore

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves

Where other groves, and other streams along,

With Nectar pure his oozy Lock's he laves,

And hear the unexpressive nuptiall Song,

In the blest Kingdoms meek of joy and love.

There entertain him all the Saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet Societies

That sing, and singing in their glory move,

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.

Now Lycidas the Shepherds weep no more;

Hence forth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth Swain to th'Okes and rills,

While the still morn went out with Sandals gray,

He touch'd the tender stops of various Quills,

With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay:

And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills,

And now was dropt into the Western bay;

At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew:

To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.

Lycidas, John Milton (1637)

Afterward by Adrienne Rich

Now that your hopes are shamed, you stand
At last believing and resigned,
And none of us who touch your hand
Know how to give you back in kind
The words you flung when hopes were proud:
Being born to happiness
Above the asking of the crowd,
You would not take a finger less.
We who know limits now give room
To one who grows to fit her doom.