I Don't Think Auden Liked My Poetry

Death's Not A Separation Or Alteration Or Parting; It's Just A One-handled Door.

O Happy Dogs Of England, Bark Well At Errand Boys, If You Lived Anywhere Else, You Would Not Be Allowed To Make Such An Infernal Noise.

But One Wants The Idea Of Death, You Know, As Something Large And Unknowable, Something That Allows A Person To Stretch Himself Out. Especially One Wants It If One Is Tired. Or Perhaps What One Wants Is Simply A Release From Sensation, From All Consciousness For Ever.

I Only Asked My Friends To Be Friendly And Polite, I Found Them Indifferent And Censorious; The One I Left To Silence, The Other To Reproach: God Send Me Over All Such Friends Victorious.

I Like To See Cats In Movement. A Galloping Cat Is A Fine Sight. See It Cross The Road In A Streak, Cursed By The Drivers Of Motor Cars And Buses, Dodging The Butcher's Bicycle, Coming Safe To The Kerb And Bellying Under Its Home Gate.