Yo persigo una forma que no encuentra mi estilo, boto¤  n de pensamiento que busca ser la rosa; se anuncia con un beso que en mis labios se posa al abrazo imposible de laVenus de Milo. I seek a form that my style cannot discover, a bud of thought that wants to be a rose; it is heralded by a kiss that is placed on my lips in the impossible embrace of theVenus de Milo.

-Dar|¤  o, Rube¤  n pseudonym of Fe¤  lixRube¤  nGarc|¤a Sarmiento
  Prosas profanas,'Yo persigo una forma†' (translated as'I seek a form†',1922).

He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; he canbring thysummerout of winter, though thou have no spring† God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noontoillustrateall shadows,asthesheavesinharvestto fill all penuries. All occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.

-Donne,John
  Sermons,'Christmas Day,1624'.

As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

-Keats,John
  Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St.  Agnes and Other Poems,'The Eve of St.  Agnes', stanza 27.

Is it not possible that the rage for confession, autobiography, especially for memories of earliest childhood, is explained by our persistent yet mysterious belief in a self which is continuous and permanent; which, untouched by all we acquire and all we shed, pushes a green spear through the dead leaves and throughthemould, thrusts a scaled bud through years of darkness until, one day, the light discovers it and shakes the flower free andöwe are aliveöwe are flowering for our moment upon the earth? This is the moment which after all, we live foröthe moment of direct feeling when we are most ourselves and least personal.

-Beauchamp
   Journal entry,  Apr.