Every English poet should master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them.

The gift of independence once granted cannot be lightly taken away again.

Love is a universal migraine. A bright stain on the vision, Blotting out reason.

When the immense drugged universe explodes In a cascade of unendurable colour And leaves us gasping naked, This is no more than the ectasy of chaos: Hold fast, with both hands, to that royal love Which alone, as we know certainly, restores Fragmentation into true being. Ecstasy of Chaos

Faults in English prose derive not so much from lack of knowledge, intelligence or art as from lack of thought, patience or goodwill.

I was last in Rome in AD 540 when it was full of Goths and their heavy horses. It has changed a great deal since then.

A banker warned the British poet Robert Graves that one could not grow rich writing poetry. He replied that if there was no money in poetry, there was certainly no poetry in money, and so it was all even.