
"Day"
By Still Waters (1906)
Address at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London; quoted in The Independent, London (22 March 1990)
"Day"
By Still Waters (1906)
“We must pass through the darkness, to reach the light.”
“Truth is an arrow, and the gate is narrow that it passes through.”
Song lyrics, Slow Train Coming (1979), When He Returns
11 November 2010 http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2010/11/11/a_polarizing_pelosi/
2010s
Knowing Yourself: The True in the False (1996)
“Who will remember, passing through this Gate,
The unheroic Dead who fed the guns?”
"On Passing the New Menin Gate" (1927-1928)
Collected Poems (1949)
Context: Who will remember, passing through this Gate,
The unheroic Dead who fed the guns?
Who shall absolve the foulness of their fate, —
Those doomed, conscripted, unvictorious ones?
Crudely renewed, the Salient holds its own.
Paid are its dim defenders by this pomp;
Paid, with a pile of peace-complacent stone,
The armies who endured that sullen swamp.
Source: Reasons and Persons (1984), p. 281
Context: Is the truth depressing? Some may find it so. But I find it liberating, and consoling. When I believed that my existence was a further fact, I seemed imprisoned in myself. My life seemed like a glass tunnel, through which I was moving faster every year, and at the end of which there was darkness. When I changed my view, the walls of my glass tunnel disappeared. I now live in the open air. There is still a difference between my life and the lives of other people. But the difference is less. I am less concerned about the rest of my own life, and more concerned about the lives of others.
interviewed in One: The Movie Full interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gby6y4i4ljU
Second of three poems ("Three Dirges") written by Tao Yuanming in 427, the same year he died at the age of 63, and often read as poems written for his own funeral.
John Minford and Joseph S. M. Lau (eds.), Classical Chinese Literature: An Anthology of Translations (2000), p. 513
Context: In former days I wanted wine to drink;
The wine this morning fills the cup in vain.
I see the spring mead with its floating foam,
And wonder when to taste of it again.
The feast before me lavishly is spread,
My relatives and friends beside me cry.
I wish to speak but lips can shape no voice,
I wish to see but light has left my eye.
I slept of old within the lofty hall,
Amidst wild weeds to rest I now descend.
When once I pass beyond the city gate
I shall return to darkness without end.