Hold your pen and spare your voice.
I can’t write five words but that I change seven.
Flowers are heaven's masterpiece.
Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.
My land is bare of chattering folk; / the clouds are low along the ridges, / and sweet's the air with curly smoke / from all my burning bridges.
I'm not a writer with a drinking problem, I'm a drinker with a writing problem.