Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

“We are the hollow menWe are the stuffed menLeaning togetherHeadpiece filled wit…”

“Between the ideaAnd the realityBetween the motionAnd the actFalls the Shadow”

“What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely pr…”

“Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,Have the strength to force the moment to…”