Fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
That ... is how the world moves: Not like an arrow, but a boomerang.
Darn the wheel of the world! Why must it continually turn over? Where is the reverse gear?
Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another.
Autumn to winter, winter into spring, Spring into summer, summer into fall,-- So rolls the changing year, and so we change; Motion so swift, we know not that we move.
Energy moves in cycles, circles, spirals, vortexes, whirls, pulsations, waves, and rhythms—rarely if ever in simple straight lines.
Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion When the wheel of time goes round.
The wheel weaves as the wheel wills
All my work keeps going like a pendulum; it seems to swing back to something I was involved with earlier, or it moves between horizontality and verticality, circularlity, or a composite of them. For me, I suppose, that change is the only constant.
To ask for power is forcing uphill a stone which after all rolls back again from the summit and seeks in headlong haste the levels of the plain.
To 'turn around' is to end up facing the same way. Maybe that is the problem, all the turning organizations around.
No matter how hard you kick, no matter how high you get, you can't go all the way around.
Like a circle in a spiral Like a wheel within a wheel Never ending or beginning On an ever-spinning reel As the images unwind Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind.
All the elements will be seen mixed together in a great whirling mass, now borne towards the centre of the world, now towards the sky; and now furiously rushing from the South towards the frozen North, and sometimes from the East towards the West, and then again from this hemisphere to the other.
It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
Just as a lamp waved in darkness creates a figure of light in the air, which remains for as long as the lamp repeats its motion exactly, so the universe retains its shape by repetition: the universe is Time's body. And how will we perceive this body? And how operate on it?
I become a waterwheel, turning and tasting you, as long as water moves.
The sun comes up just about as often as it goes down, in the long run, but this doesn't make its motion random.
Around, around the sun we go: The moon goes round the earth. We do not die of death: We die of vertigo.
