Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night. – Rupert Brooke
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes. – Rupert Brooke
Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea? – Rupert Brooke
Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. – Rupert Brooke
What was once called the objective world is a sort of Rorschach ink blot, into which each culture, each system of science and religion, each type of personality, reads a meaning only remotely derived from the shape and color of the blot itself. – Lewis Mumford, “Orientation to Life,” The Conduct of Life, 1951