On out deathbeds we're not going to regret all the work we didn't do. We're going to regret all the sex we didn't have!

I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.

Oh Wasn't it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm sick with disgust. She threww me in front of the judges, And my silly old collar-bone's bust.

People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.

Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry, about the country, the suburbs and the seaside. Then there comes love... and increasingly; the fear of death.

Hymns are the poetry of the people.

Imprisoned in a cage of sound, even the trivial seems profound