The work of creation is never without travail.
I suspect that in our loathing of totalitarianism, there is infused a good deal of admiration for its efficiency.
Honest criticism and sensitive appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry.
Past art is subject to change.
Every moment is a fresh beginning.
Ash on an old man's sleeve / Is all the ash the burnt roses leave, / Dust in the air suspended / Marks the place where a story ended.