Nor - Quotes
No field of victory, nor servile rope,
but a soft bed will be my end, I hope.
When, come what may, the inventory's done,
I died of life - I'm not the only one.
This is what man is like, a singular sample.
No copy existed before, nor does one at present.
As on a living branch each leaf is different
so time itself will breed no simulacrum.
In a manner of speaking, the poem is its own knower, neither poet nor reader knowing anything that the poem says apart from the words of the poem.