Man has survived hitherto because he was too ignorant to know how to realise his wishes- Now that he can realise them, he must either change them or perish

It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.

The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages.

The job of the poet is to use language effectively, his own language, the only language which is to him authentic.

The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.

As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.

It is not fair to be old, to put on a brown sweater.

There is nothing beginning nor end to the imagination but it delights in its own seasons reversing the usual order at will.

My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy.

Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.

Failure is not the end of life. It is the beginning of a greater success, if thy will persist.

The reader became the book

It's hard to write a good play because it's hard to structure a plot. If you can think of it off the top of your head, so can the audience.

The only ambition I ever had going into and committing to wanting to be an actor was to live my life.

And so I pray I am today as honest with myself, with life all around me and below and above me, with all who I encounter.

Not every one who has the gift of speech understands the value of silence.

Ah, love, 'tis a sorrowful land!

Sadness can find you anywhere, anytime, so you better have fun when you can.

"You ask me how I know he lives?" asks the revival chorus. "He lives within my heart." Exactly! A figment.

This may be the very nature of love, a passion as fickle as the sea, full of certainty when the object of desire is absent, yet dubious when confronted again with the lover's presence.