The English language is nobody's special property.

Peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

Any serious attempt to try to do something worthwhile is ritualistic.

I look in the mirror. There's me. What's in the mirror is not real. So am I unreal?

She's a rare vase, out of a cat's reach, on its shelf.

The classics can console. But not enough.

We make too much of that long groan which underlines the past.