A thing, until it is everything, is noise, and once it is everything it is silence. – Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin
A very intimate sense of the expressiveness of outward things, which ponders, listens, penetrates, where the earlier, less developed consciousness passed lightly by, is an important element in the general temper of our modern poetry. – Walter Pater
