On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes, the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes. I wipe them away with a… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
In my case, the long gaps between my books have got quite a lot to do with lack of confidence. A lot… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I used to think all poets were Byronic Mad, bad and dangerous to know. And then I met a few. See Lamb 486:25. — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I've said what I'm prepared to say in my poems, and then journalists think that you're going to tell them a whole… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I was single for a long time and felt very much alone in the world, and talk of family values upset me… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I think it's a question which particularly arises over women writers: whether it's better to have a happy life or a good… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
The reason modern poetry is difficult is so that the poet's wife cannot understand it. — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes, the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes. I wipe them away with a black woolly… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
In my case, the long gaps between my books have got quite a lot to do with lack of confidence. A lot of the… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
“A Green Song (to sing at the bottle-bank) One green bottle, Drop it in the bank. Ten green bottles, What a lot we drank.… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I used to think all poets were Byronic Mad, bad and dangerous to know. And then I met a few. See Lamb 486:25. — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
I always tell students that writing a poem and publishing it are two quite separate things, and you should write what you have to… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
Bloody Christmas, here again, let us raise a loving cup, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and make them do the washing up. — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
Bloody men are like bloody buses - you wait for about a year and as soon as one approaches your stop two or three… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
“Everybody in this room is bored. The poems drag, the voice and gestures irk. He can't be interrupted or ignored. Poor fools, we came… — Wendy Cope Copy Share Image
