“There was a doorAnd I could not open it. I could not touch the handle.Why could I not walk out of my prison?What is hell? Hell is oneself,Hell is alone, the other figures in itMerely projections. There is nothing to escape fromAnd nothing to Escape to. One is always alone.”

“What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.”

“If Hell is where nothing connects, then being in the field of English must be the key to heaven's door! We are in the business of finding connections--within texts, between texts and contexts, between texts and ourselves, between our readings and the readings of other interpreters.”

“Hell is oneself,Hell is alone.”

“Yet when we came back, from the hyacinth garden,Yours arms full, and your hair wet, I could notSpeak, and my eyes failed, I was neitherLiving nor dead, and I knew nothing.Looking into the heart of light, the silence.Oed und leer das Meer ('waste and empty in the sea')""I rememberThose are pearls that were his eyes.""Who is the third who walks always beside you?When I count, there are only you and I togetherBut when I look ahead, up the white roadThere is always another one walking beside you,Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hoodedI do not know whether a man or a womanBut who is that on the other side of you?”

“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these.”

“Who is the third who walks always beside you?When I count, there are only you and I togetherBut when I look ahead up the white roadThere is always another one walking beside youGliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hoodedI do not know whether a man or a woman-But who is that on the other side of you?”