(I have only just begun to build this site.)

                                             

Quidquid hoc est
      Whatever this is

 

Quare habe tibi quidquid hoc libelli                                 
qualecumque . . . –Catullus 
     Wherefore have for yourself                                
     whatever this is of a little book                                  
     and of whatever sort . . .

Sī aliō mē nōn invenias,
hīc erō. –hh
     If you should not find elsewhere
     I will be here.                                   

ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον . . –Od.
     Tell me, muse, of the man (ἄνδρα) of many turns (πολύτροπον)

The knowledge of reality is always in some measure
a secret knowledge.  It is a kind of death. 

                                                              –Yeats, Autobiographies, p. 482

Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.

                                                    –Yeats, “The Coming of Wisdom With Time”