I Am Awakened Each Dawn Increasingly To

There Is Bad In All Good Authors: What A Pity The Converse Isn't True!

I'd Like To Think...that People In Pubs Would Talk About My Poems

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.

A Writer Can Have Only One Language, If Language Is Going To Mean Anything To Him.

So Many Things I Had Thought Forgotten Return To My Mind With Stranger Pain: Like Letters That Arrive Addressed To Someone Who Left The House So Many Years Ago.