“Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.”

“And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.”

“Permitted to inhabit neither the realm of the ideal nor the realm of the real, to be neither aspiration nor companion, beauty comes to us like a fugitive bird unable to fly, unable to land.”

“neither poems nor prose just a length of rope just the wet earth -- that's the way home.neither vodka nor bread just bursts of rage just more new graves -- that's youth and that's love.neither sleep nor waking neither joy nor laughter just tears in the night -- so the rope, paper, knife.”

“There is a period between each night and day when one dies for a few hours, neither dreaming nor thinking nor tossing nor hating nor loving, but dying for a little while because life progresses in just such a way.”

“There are places in this world that are neither here nor there, neither up nor down, neither real nor imaginary...”