
Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.


With tail erect and pompous march,
The proudest puss that ever trod,
Through many a grove, 'neath many an arch,
Impenetrable as a god.

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.






Thinks when we stroke him he's doing us a favour
Maybe he's right, at that.




This is the Cat, that killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.
~ Mother Goose rhyme ~














the stray cat
makes Buddha's lap
her pillow
~ Kobayashi Issa, translated by David Lanoue ~





I think an aptitude for physics and astronomy is probably a plus for a poet. As is an aptitude for anything that involves the real, physical world--stars in the sky, insects on the ground, how bridges and buildings stay up. Without curiosity and passion about physical things, poetry is dead as a doornail. 

