Remember, Writing Poetry Is Like Making Love:

It Is Not That The Child Lives In A World Of Imagination, But That The Child Within Us Survives And Starts Into Life Only At Rare Moments Of Recollection, Which Makes Us Believe, And It Is Not True, That, As Children, We Were Imaginative?

Many Men On The Point Of An Edifying Death Would Be Furious If They Were Suddenly Restored To Health.

Whatever People May Say, The Fastidious Formal Manner Of The Upper Classes Is Preferable To The Slovenly Easygoing Behaviour Of The Common Middle Class. In Moments Of Crisis, The Former Know How To Act, The Latter Become Uncouth Brutes.

Life Is Pain And The Enjoyment Of Love Is An Anesthetic.

When Writing Poetry, It Is Not That Produces A Bright Idea, But The Bright Idea That Kindles The Fire Of.