It is hardly respectable to be good nowadays.

I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent.

All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.

What the reporters are like! They are mad with excitement at the thought of my approaching demise. Kind Sister Farquhar, my nurse, spends much of her time in throwing them downstairs. But one got in the other day, and asked me if I mind the fact that I must die.

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

I'm dying, but otherwise I'm in very good health.

In the Augustan age ... poetry was ... the sister of architecture; with the romantics, and their heightened vowel-sense, resulting in different melodic lines, she became the sister of music; in the present day, she appears like the sister of horticulture, each poem growing according to the law of its own nature.