When next he came to me he was drunk - royally drunk on many poets for the first time revealed to him. His pupils were dilated, his words tumbled over each other, and he wrapped himself in quotations - as a beggar would enfold himself in the purple of emperors.

Ever the wide world over, lass, Ever the trail held true, Over the world and under the world, And back at the last to you.

We pulled for you when the wind was against us and the sails were low. Will you never let us go?

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame, But each for the joy of …

It was all completely incomprehensible to me. I was fearful of the language. You had to look up every third word.

The Macedonian language is actually an artifact produced for primarily political reasons.

It seems to me a long way to go just to sit in a non-drinking, non-smoking environment on the offchance your name is called. ... It's as if you are entered int…