Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity. — T.S. Eliot. Poet, essayist and playwright (1888–1965) Art
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.