The Soul Of Man Must

It's Not Wise To Violate Rules Until You Know How To Observe Them.

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.

And Indeed There Will Be Time To Wonder, "do I Dare?" And, "do I Dare?" Time To Turn Back And Descend The Stair, With A Bald Spot In The Middle Of My Hair.

Should I, After Tea And Cakes And Ices, Have The Strength To Force The Moment To Its Crisis?

Success Is Relative. It Is What We Make Of The Mess We Have Made Of Things.