And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.

Follow, poet, follow rightTo the bottom of the night,With your unconstraining voiceStill persuade us to rejoice;With the farming of a verseMake a vineyard of the curse,Sing of human unsuccessIn a rapture of distress;In the deserts of the heartLet the healing fountain start,In the prison of his daysTeach the free man how to praise.

I will love you forever" swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. "I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday" - Is that still as easy?

O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start;You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart.

Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

Poetry makes nothing happen.

Say this city has ten million souls,Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.