So if I were talking to a young writer, I would recommend the cultivation of extreme indifference to both praise and blame because praise will lead you to vanity, and blame will lead you to self-pity, and both are bad for writers.

I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.

I cry. Evil dissolves, & love, like foam; that love. Prattle of children powers me home, my heart claps like the swan's under a frenzy of who love me & who shine.

I didn't want to be like Yeats; I wanted to be Yeats.

These Songs are not meant to be understood, you understand. They are only meant to terrify & comfort.

That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn