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I have spent too many years watching people play the victim at the victim's expense.
That words can be plucked from the air and shaped into something beautiful is marvellous and wondrous indeed.
We mustn't look for love aimlessly; rather, we must allow ourselves the joy of bumping into it.
The candle can be burnt at both ends but never once will the flames consume you. It is the overwhelming darkness we must be wary of when the wick has turned to ash.
I have discovered, with wondrous ease, the answer that has baffled the worthiest of philosophers: is there a greater meaning or higher purpose to life? Indeed there is. Stilton and red wine.
A true poet is not defined by his ability to write well; rather, his ability to feel profoundly.
I fear the life of a poet is plagued by an unquenchable thirst for happiness.