“Oh dear white children, casual as birds,Playing among the ruined languages,So small beside their large confusing words.”

“O dear white children casual as birds,Playing among the ruined languages,So small beside their large confusing words,So gay against the greater silencesOf dreadful things you did…”

“Language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought; words will tell you things you never thought or felt before.”

“(Precocious children rarely grow up good). My aunts and uncles thought me quite atrocious. For using words more adult than I should”

“Sorry, my dear, one mustn't be bohemian!”

“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can; all of them make me laugh.”

“I used to try and concentrate the poem so much that there wasn't a word that wasn't essential. This leads to becoming boring and constipated.”