The Cliche Is Dead Poetry.

We Should All Live As If We Were Never Going To Die, For It Is The Deaths Of Our Friends That Hurt Us, Not Our Own.

We Soon Cease To Feel The Grief At The Deaths Of Our Friends, Yet We Continue To The End Of Our Lives To Miss Them. They Are Still With Us In Their Absence.

In A Happy Marriage It Is The Wife Who Provides The Climate, The Husband The Landscape.

Poets And Painters Are Outside The Class System, Or Rather They Constitute A Special Class Of Their Own, Like The Circus People And The Gypsies.

Words Are As Recalcitrant As Circus Animals, And The Unskilled Trainer Can Crack His Whip At Them In Vain.