It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry.
“Witches and poets co-embrace like fate,
Reputed base, bare, poor, unfortunate.
In these respects I may myself intrude
Among the poets’ thickest multitude.
Here lies that poet, buried in the night,
Whose purse, men know it, was exceeding light.”
Henry Parrot | “Fatales Poetae”