I forget now who it was who remarked that literary prizes are good
conduct medals, not combat ribbons.
--
But strength alone though of the Muses born
Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,
Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres
Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs
And thorns of life; forgetting the great end
Of poesy, that it should be a friend
To soothe the cars and lift the thoughts of man.
-- Keats
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