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“The gods do grant immunity, you see, To everybody except the true and the just.”
― Seamus Heaney, The Cure at Troy: A Version of Sophocles' Philoctetes

“Any owner of cats will know of what I speak. Cats come at dawn to sit on your bed. They may not nip your nose or inhale your breath or make a sound. They simply sit there and stare at you until you open one eyelid and spy them there about to drop dead for need of feeding. So it is with ideas. They come silently in the hour of trying to wake up and remember my name. The notions and fancies sit on the edge of my wits, whisper in my ears and then, if I don’t rouse, give more than cats give: a good knock in the head, which gets me out and down to my typewriter before the ideas flee or die or both. In any event, I make the ideas come to me. I do not go to them. I provoke their patience by pretending disregard. This infuriates the latent creature until it is almost raving to be born and once born, nourished.”
― Ray Bradbury

“You can't just pluck your honour off a bush
You didn't plant.”
― Seamus Heaney, The Burial at Thebes: A Version of Sophocles' Antigone

“If a stranger in the train asks me my occupation, I never answer 'writer' for fear that he may go on to ask me what I write, and to answer poetry would embarrass us both.”
― W.H. Auden, The Dyer's Hand and Other Essays