When I was a teenager, just about the only thing I could do right was play music. In my graduating class, I was certainly not voted ‘Most Literary Boy.’ I can assure you I was not voted ‘Mostly Likely to Succeed.’ I was voted ‘Most Musical Boy.’ And the music led to the poetry.
The drums of Africa still beat in my heart. They will not let me rest while there is a single Negro boy or girl without a chance to prove his worth.
Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end.
Shortly after this I was made a member of the boys’ choir, it being found that I possessed a clear, strong soprano voice. I enjoyed the singing very much.
Treat a boy like a fool and he’ll act like a fool, I say, but there’s some folks need convincing.
She was my first love, and I loved her as only a boy loves.
I thought that the chief thing to be done in order to equal boys was to be learned and courageous. So I decided to study Greek and learn to manage a horse.
Every genuine boy is a rebel and an anarch. If he were allowed to develop according to his own instincts, his own inclinations, society would undergo such a radical transformation as to make the adult revolutionary cower and cringe.
My whole life as a grammar-school boy, getting to Cambridge University and working on the ‘London Sunday Times’ has been very aspirational.
A mother takes twenty years to make a man of her boy, and another woman makes a fool of him in twenty minutes.