Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
Poetry is not the most important thing in life... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking sweets.
The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.
When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.
Love is the last light spoken.