Get Stewed:books Are A Load Of Crap.

I'd Like To Think...that People In Pubs Would Talk About My Poems

Above All, Though, Children Are Linked To Adults By The Simple Fact That They Are In Process Of Turning Into Them. For This They May Be Forgiven Much. Children Are Bound To Be Inferior To Adults, Or There Is No Incentive To Grow Up.

A Writer Once Said To Me, If You Ever Go To America, Go Either To The East Coast Or The West Coast: The Rest Is A Desert Full Of Bigots. That's What I Think I'd Like . . . A Version Of Pastoral.

Never Such Innocence, Never Before Or Since, As Changed Itself To Past Without A Word--the Men Leaving The Gardens Tidy, The Thousands Of Marriages Lasting A Little While Longer: Never Such Innocence Again.

And Immediately Rather Than Words Comes The Thought Of High Windows: The Sun-comprehending Glass, And Beyond It, The Deep Blue Air, That Shows Nothing, And Is Nowhere, And Is Endless.