A true poet is not defined by his ability to write well; rather, his ability to feel profoundly.

We mustn't look for love aimlessly; rather, we must allow ourselves the joy of bumping into it.

Perhaps we are strong if we do not suffer depression. Perhaps we are stronger still if we do and survive it.

I fear the life of a poet is plagued by an unquenchable thirst for happiness.

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.

Yes, I do believe in ghosts. They are memories that haunt me every single day.

I have spent too many years watching people play the victim at the victim's expense.

Without a muse, a poet is but a writer.

My argument is not with Heaven, but with our our ineptitude and seeming lack of desire to replicate it here on Earth