From Mondays till Saturdays, calm; a perfect environment for a poet.

You would be surprised to learn of the vast army of poets and novelists and dramatists who dispense four-in-hands, collars, buttons and hosiery six days in the week and who go a-picnicking on the seventh, provided it does not rain.
Thomas had an idea.

It was not a reflection of his lamented father's; it was wholly his own.

He wanted to be loved.

His father's idea had been to love; thus, humanity had laughed him into the grave.