Last Year I Was A Judge For

One Will Never Again Look At A Birch Tree, After The Robert Frost Poem, In Exactly The Same Way.

Confusion Is What We're Living With - Not Being Able To Make Sense Of What's Happening To Us From Day To Day. Whereas Making Sense Is What We're Aiming For - Making Sense.

The Ground Swell Is What’s Going To Sink You As Well As Being What Buoys You Up. These Are Clichés Also, Of Course, And I’m Sometimes Interested In How Much One Can Get Away With.

I Believe That These Devices Like Repetition And Rhyme Are Not Artificial, That They're Not Imposed, Somehow, On The Language.

It Seems To Me The Structure Of The Quartets Is Too Imposed.