“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

“Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone,And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood,Remember only this of our hopeless loveThat never till Time is doneWill the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one”

“Said the lion to the lioness - "when you are amber dust - No more a raging fire like the heat of the sun(no liking but all lust) - Remember still the flowering of the amber bloodand bone,the rippling of bright muscles likea sea,Remember the rose-prickles of bright pawsThough we shall mate no moreTill the fire of that sun and the moon - Cold bone are one"Said the skeleton lying upon thesands of time - "The great gold planet thatis the mourning heatof the sunIs greater than all gold, more powerfulThan the tawny body of a lion that fireconsumesLike all that grows or leaps...sois the heart.More powerful than all dust. OnceI was herculesOr Samson, strong as the pillars of theseas:But the flames of the heartConsumed me, andthe mindIs but a foolish wind.”

“I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty...But I am too busy thinking about myself.”

“Solo For Ear-Trumpet The carriage brushes through the brightLeaves (violent jets from life to light);Strong polished speed is plunging, heavesBetween the showers of bright hot leavesThe window-glasses glaze our facesAnd jar them to the very basis — But they could never put a polishUpon my manners or abolishMy most distinct disinclinationFor calling on a rich relation!In her house — (bulwark built betweenThe life man lives and visions seen) — The sunlight hiccups white as chalk,Grown drunk with emptiness of talk,And silence hisses like a snake — Invertebrate and rattling ache….Then suddenly EternityDrowns all the houses like a seaAnd down the street the Trump of DoomBlares madly — shakes the drawing-roomWhere raw-edged shadows sting forlornAs dank dark nettles. Down the hornOf her ear-trumpet I conveyThe news that 'It is Judgment Day!''Speak louder: I don't catch, my dear.'I roared: 'It is the Trump we hear!''The What?' 'THE TRUMP!' 'I shall complain!…. the boy-scouts practising again.”

“I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent.”

“My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.”