We confess our bad qualities to others out of fear of appearing naive or ridiculous by not being aware of them.

When I write a page that reads badly I know that it is myself who has written it. When it reads well it has come through from somewhere else.

Middle age snuffs out more talent than even wars or sudden death.

The more we feel sorry for ourselves, the less sorry others will feel for us. People don't waste their small store of sympathy on those who can provide it so richly for themselves.

Every writer and artist wonders what in the world people of other professions can find to live for.

As Coleridge said, "We receive but what we give." The happy life is a life of continual generosity in which we go out to meet and acclaim the world.

One of the marks of a great poet is that he creates his own family of words and teaches them to live together in harmony and to help one another.