There are moments of despair that come sometimes, when night sets in and a white fog presses against the windows. Then our house changes its shape, rears up and becomes a place of despair. Then fear and rage run simply--and the thought of Death as a friend. This is the simplest of thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god.

Nothing is more wistful than the scent of lilac, nor more robust than its woody stalk, for we must remember that it is a tree as well as a flower, we must try not to forget this.

This Englishwoman is so refined, She has no bosom and no behind.

I love Death because he breaks the human pattern and frees us from pleasures too prolonged as well as from the pains of this world. It is pleasant, too, to remember that Death lies in our hands; he must come if we call him. ... I think if there were no death, life would be more than flesh and blood could bear.

I'll have your heart, if not by gift my knife Shall carve it out. I'll have your heart, your life.

I like food, I like stripping vegetables of their skins, I like to have a slim young parsnip under my knife.

I don't think Auden liked my poetry very much, he's very Anglican.