And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.

And books which told me everything about the wasp, except why.

The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Why do men think you can pick love up and re-light it like a candle? Women know when love is over.

Rage, rage against the dying light

And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.