Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse.
However well organized the foundations of life may be, life must always be full of risks.
I don’t know anybody’s road who’s been paved perfectly for them, there are no manuals, you don’t know what life has in store for you.
Often undecided whether to desert a sinking ship for one that might not float, he would make up his mind to sit on the wharf for a day.
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.
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