In The Life Of One Man, Never

You Have Learned Enough To See That Cats Are Much Like You And Me.

The Communication Of The Dead Is Tongued With Fire Beyond The Language Of The Living.

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.

Time Present And Time Past / Are Both Perhaps Present In Time Future.

A People Without History Is Not Redeemed From Time, For History Is A Pattern Of Timeless Moments.