"Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light."
"Reading one's own poems aloud is letting the cat out of the bag. You may have always suspected bits of a poem to be overweighted, overviolent, or daft, and then, suddenly, with the poet's tongue around them, your suspicion is made certain."
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Source: Under Milk Wood (1954) p. 1
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