People who leave their own time out of their work cannot be surprised if their time fails to find them interesting.

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.

All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.

Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the amusement and delight of the few.

It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.

And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.