This is the feeling for syllable and rhythm, penetrating far below the conscious levels of thought and feeling, invigorating every word.

To country people Cows are mild, And flee from any stick they throw; But I’m a timid town bred child, And all the cattle seem to know.

As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.

History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors and issues.

It seems just possible that a poem might happen to a very young man: but a poem is not poetry -That is a life.

Humankind can't stand too much reality.

With out some kind of god, man is not very intresting