“The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.” -Jean Cocteau
“If the god speaks in me I listen,” Brys said rashly. “I make poems. As my brother makes a farm. To seed the ruined wasteland and make a garden. If I sing it, it will be so.” -“Brys” from Awen by Susan Mayse
“I wish to tune my quivering lyre, To deeds of fame, and notes of fire.” “To His Lyre” from Hours of Idleness by Lord Byron
“I know that our deceased friends are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part. Thirteen years ago I lost a brother, and with his spirit I converse daily and hourly in the spirit, and see him in my remembrance, in the region of my imagination. I hear his advice, and even now write from his dictate.” -William Blake (A letter of condolence sent to William Haley, dated 6 May 1800, four days after the death of Haley’s son.)