“Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.It is not the effort nor the failure tires.The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.It is not your system or clear sight that millsDown small to the consequence a life requires;Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rillsOf young dog blood gave but a month's desires.The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.It is the Chinese tombs and the slag hillsUsurp the soil, and not the soil retires.Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.Not to have fire is to be a skin that shrills.The complete fire is death. From partial firesThe waste remains, the waste remains and kills.It is the poems you have lost, the illsFrom missing dates, at which the heart expires.Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.- 'Missing Dates”

“Waste no time lamenting with regard to what is lacking. In such instances, immediately turn focus toward what is to be...and remain poised to receive that which is due.”

“Humans live in a pit of cheating, exploiting, hurting, incarcerating. Every time, the species wastes some part of what it could be. This waste is poisonous.”

“You…you need to move on,” I managed. Yes, that was a sound reason. “You need to find someone else. You know I don’t—that I can’t. Well, you know. You’re wasting your time with me.”He remained firm. “It’s my time to waste.”

“Long ago the country bore the country-town and nourished it with her best blood. Now the giant city sucks the country dry, insatiably and incessantly demanding and devouring fresh streams of men, till it wearies and dies in the midst of an almost uninhabited waste of country.”

“Perhaps Eurydice wants to remain marginal, a shade insubstantial… the mute waste in a limbo without light and without depth are a style of anima fascinations in which the absence of significance is the significance.”