If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I think I am mad sometimes.

My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.

My life is a discipline, a prison: I live for my own work, without which I am nothing.

I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

People or stars Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.