Conscious writing can be the death of poetry.
Truly as the sun can rot or mend, love can make one bestial or make a beast a man.
You're not free until you've been made captive by supreme belief.
Men are monopolists of "stars, garters, buttons and other shining baubles"- unfit to be the guardians of another person's happiness.
We are suffering from too much sarcasm.
A writer is unfair to himself when he is unable to be hard on himself.