The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it. – F. Scott Fitzgerald
The poetry of a people comes from the deep recesses of the unconscious, the irrational and the collective body of our ancestral memories. – Margaret Walker
So shall I fight, so shall I tread, In this long war beneath the stars; So shall a glory wreathe my head, So shall I faint and show the scars, Until this case, this clogging mould, Be smithied all to kingly gold. – John Edward Masefield