Even though I am not a huge fan of T.S. Eliot I loved this one work of his which I copied to hang on my wall in my young adulthood, either it is untitled or I don't recall it (and I could be a little off from the original):

If Time and Space as sages say
Are things that cannot be,
The sun which never feels decay
No greater is than we.
So why, love, should we ever pray
To live a century?
The butterfly that's lived a day
Has lived eternity.

--T.S. Eliot

>The Big Bang<...so what exploded?

>Time Travel<... While believing in the possibilities of extra-dimensional travel, I also find it difficult to believe that if indeed, time travel exists in some "future" society (and even with a sworn and heightened wisdom toward the non-tampering of history), that someone could resist going back to WWI and making sure that Adolph Hitler was killed in the trenches.

>I'll see your Dylan and Donne and Wordsworth and raise you a Eugene O'Neill -- from his play Long Day's Journey Into Night -- Edmund Tyrone's monologue in conversation with his father, James Tyrone (note: Edmund is sick with tuberculosis):

EDMUND

You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself--actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way. Then another time, on the American Line, when I was lookout on the crow's nest in the dawn watch. A calm sea, that time. Only a lazy ground swell and a slow drowsy roll of the ship. The passengers asleep and none of the crew in sight. No sound of man. Black smoke pouring from the funnels behind and beneath me. Dreaming, not keeping lookout, feeling alone, and above, and apart, watching the dawn creep like a painted dream over the sky and sea which slept together. Then the moment of ecstatic freedom came. The peace, the end of the quest, the last harbor, the joy of belonging to a fulfillment beyond men's lousy, pitiful, greedy fears and hopes and dreams! And several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or lying alone on a beach, I have had the same experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see--and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand let's the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!
He grins wryly
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a sea gull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!

TYRONE
Stares at him--impressed.
Yes, there's the makings of a poet in you all right.
Then protesting uneasily
But that's a morbid craziness about not being wanted and loving death.

EDMUND
Sardonically
The makings of a poet. No, I'm afraid I'm like the guy who is always panhandling for a smoke. He hasn't even got the makings. He's got only the habit. I couldn't touch what I tried to tell you just now. I just stammered. That's the best I'll ever do. I mean, if I live. Stammering is the native eloquence of us fog people.

(c) 1955 by Carlotta Monterey O'Neill, All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.