With Cats, some say, one rule is true: Don’t speak till you are spoken to. Myself, I do not hold with that — I say, you should ad-dress a Cat. But always keep in mind that he Resents familiarity. I bow, and taking off my hat, Ad-dress him in this form: O Cat! But if he is the Cat next door, Whom I have often met before (He comes to see me in my flat) I greet him with an oopsa Cat! I think I've heard them call him James — But we've not got so far as names.

Genuine blasphemy, genuine in spirit and not purely verbal, is the product of partial belief, and is as impossible to the complete atheist as to the perfect Christian.

I've been born, and once is enough.

All time is eternal, moving inexorably toward an end which we believe is a result of our actions, but over which our control is mere illusion.

We see the light but see not whence it comes. O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!

In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.

It is a test (a positive test, I do not assert that it is always valid negatively), that genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.