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My works are dear to me, each in its own way, I shall have to answer for them on the Day off Judgement. God alone knows whether I shall ever see them again. Quite apart from the money which I was going to receive for their sale there (exhibition in Gallery Der Sturm, Berlin June-July, 1914) and it is no small sum.

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Walter de La Mare

A face peered. All the grey night In chaos of vacancy shone; Nought but vast Sorrow was there The sweet cheat gone.

Grey, Night, Sorrow, Sweet, Vacancy, Vast
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All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.

Cat, Doors, Long, Return, Side, Slip

Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.

Angel, Common, Herd, Likely, Men, Thickets

After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.

Acorns, Chinese, Ghosts, Horde, Lying, Men

Without imagination of the one kind or of the other, mortal existence is indeed a dreary and prosaic business. . . Illumined by the imagination, our life, whatever its defeats - is a never-ending unforeseen strangeness and adventure and mystery.

Adventure, Existence, Imagination, Kind, Strangeness

He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.

Autumn, Charmed, Deserted, Morning, Stars, Street
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