Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone, And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood, Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one

The trouble about most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation, or hope to be one in the next.

All great art contains an element of the irrational.

I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.

I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.

What is the special privilege of youth? It is, I think, the power of looking forward, the firm belief that the future holds something that is worth possessing, and that, therefore, one can let the present moment drop from one without regret and without fear.

Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality.