Here silence stands Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken, Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken, Luminously-peopled air ascends; And past the poppies bluish neutral distance Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence: Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.

All the unhurried day / Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.

I am beginning to think of the human imagination as a fruit machine on which victories are rare and separated by much vain expense, and represent a rare alignment of mental and spiritual qualities that normally are quite at odds.

A good meal can somewhat repair / The eatings of slight love

They say eyes clear with age.

The chromatic scale is what you use to give the effect of drinking a quinine martini and having an enema simultaneously.

Many modern novels have a beginning, a muddle and an end.