Philip Larkin

One of the quainter quirks of life is that we shall never know who dies on the dame day as we do ourselves.

Novels are about other people and poems are about yourself.

Since the majority of me Rejects the majority of you, Debating ends forthwith, and we Divide.'' Philip Larkin

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.

Dear, I can't write, it's all a fantasy: a kind of circling obsession.

Now, helpless in the hollow of An unarmorial age, a trough Of smoke in slow suspended skeins Above their scrap of history, Only an attitude remains: Time has transfigured them into Untruth. The stone finality They hardly meant has come to be Their final blazon, and to prove Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.

I'd like to think...that people in pubs would talk about my poems

Only in books the flat and final happens, Only in dreams we meet and interlock.

So many things I had thought forgotten Return to my mind with stranger pain: Like letters that arrive addressed to someone Who left the house so many years ago.