But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.

If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 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 am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

It's a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It's much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.

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'm about fifty years behind as far as my preferences go and I must say that the poets who excite me most are the Americans. There are very few contemporary English poets that I admire.