Theres a little vanity chair that Charlie gave me the first Christmas we knew each other. Ill not be parting with that, nor our bed – the four-poster – Ill be needing that to die in. – Helen Hayes
As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mugs 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. – T. S. Eliot
