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I was last in Rome in AD 540 when it was full of Goths and their heavy horses. It has changed a great deal since then.

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No poem is worth anything unless it starts from a poetic trance, out of which you can be wakened by interruption as from a dream. In fact, it is the same thing.
ROBERT GRAVES

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Love at first sight’some say misnaming Discovery of twinned helplessness Against the huge tug of procreation. But friendship at first sight? This also Catches fiercely at the surprised heart So that the cheek blanches then blushes.
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For I now realize that what overcame me that evening was a sudden awareness of the power of intuition, the supra-logic that cuts out all routine processes of thought and leaps straight from problem to answer.
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Children born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their heart’s desire.
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I believe that every English poet should read the English classics, master the rules of grammar before he attempts to bend or break them, travel abroad, experience the horrors of sordid passion, and – if he is lucky enough – know the love of an honest woman.
ROBERT GRAVES

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Patriotism, in the trenches, was too remote a sentiment, and at once rejected as fit only for civilians, or prisoners. A new arrival who talked patriotism would soon be told to cut it out.
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There is no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting.
ROBERT GRAVES

Goodness Poet Writing
The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir Will celebrate with green the Mother, And every song-bird shout awhile for her; But we are gifted, even in November Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense Of Her nakedly worn magnificence We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
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A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end. Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
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Any honest housewife would sort them out, Having a nose for fish, an eye for apples.
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Though philosophers like to define poetry as irrational fancy, for us it is practical, humorous, reasonable way of being ourselves.
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To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.
ROBERT GRAVES

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There is no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting.
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Prose books are the show dogs I breed and sell to support my cat.
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Truth-loving Persians do not dwell upon The trivial skirmish fought near Marathon.
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I don’t really feel my poems are mine at all. I didn’t create them out of nothing. I owe them to my relations with other people.
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This seems to me a philosophical question, and therefore irrelevant, question. A poet’s destiny is to love.
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Well, we’ve been lucky devils both And there is no need for a pledge or oath To bind our lovely friendship fast, By firmer stuff Close bound enough.
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One smile relieves a heart that grieves.
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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.
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There’s a cool web of language winds us in, Retreat from too much joy or too much fear: We grow sea-green at last and coldly die In brininess and volubility.
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You mean that people who continue virtuous in an old-fashioned way must inevitably suffer in times like these?
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Any honest housewife would sort them out,/ Having a nose for fish, an eye for apples.
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A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end. Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
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As was the custom in such cases, the pear tree was charged with murder and sentenced to be uprooted and burned.
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Love is a universal migraine. A bright stain on the vision, Blotting out reason.
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