“New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return.”

To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.

A well-chosen anthology is a complete dispensary of medicine for the more common mental disorders, and may be used as much for prevention as cure.

Though philosophers like to define poetry as irrational fancy, for us it is practical, humorous, reasonable way of being ourselves.

Prose books are the show dogs I breed and sell to support my cat.

So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You’ll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you’ve read.

We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.

In love as in sport, the amateur status must be strictly maintained.

This seems to me a philosophical question, and therefore irrelevant, question. A poet’s destiny is to love.

The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

One smile relieves a heart that grieves.

The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

A well-chosen anthology is a complete dispensary of medicine for the more common mental disorders, and may be used as much for prevention as cure.

Myths are seldom simple, and never irresponsible.

Any honest housewife would sort them out, Having a nose for fish, an eye for apples.

Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild I’d love to be a Fairy’s child.

The award of a pure gold medal for poetry would flatter the recipient unduly: no poem ever attains such carat purity.

It is indifferent to me where I am to begin, for there shall I return again.

Even unconditional love will run out eventually if you don’t return the effort they make for you.

Where am I, or what? From what causes do I derive my existence, and to what condition shall I return?

Do good without the expectation that your favour will be returned.

A tear once lost returns but a love once lost is lost forever.

If I were reincarnated I would wish to be returned to Earth as a killer virus to lower human population levels.

We all return to dreams, don’t we? The unattainable is alluring, desire is tenfold.

Refrain from giving pieces of yourself to those who get close, for people leave, and gifts that are given cannot be returned.