Poetry stands or falls by its music.

No one could say it was my choice to kill the twins, any more than it was my decision to bring them into the world.

All you have to do is choose the right day, the right weather, and you come upon a hidden place in the morning light where time stopped long before you were born.

Sometimes, coming home in the early morning like this, I’d imagine things had altered while I was absent: a knife on the bread board that I didn’t remember leaving out, a book face down on the table, a cup brimming with tea and dishwater in the sink. The evidence I wanted didn’t need to be too elaborate or detailed. I could have constructed an entire afterlife from a half-moon of lemon rind or a small blister of jam on the tablecloth.

It might sound sentimental to say it in so many words, but we are blessed by the dead, and we know that we are, in spite of our protestations to the contrary. They leave spaces in our lives that, for some of us, are the closest things to sacred we ever know. They are there and then they are gone and, after a time, we come to see a certain elegance in that – the elegance of a magic trick, say, where the conjuror rehearses the vanishing act that we must all accomplish sooner or later.

That’s the wonderful thing with nerds: they’re enthusiasts. Not having a life means you get to love things with a passion and nobody bothers you about it.

The definition of a page-turner really aught to be that this page is so good, you can’t bear to leave it behind, but then the next page is there and it might be just as amazing as this one.

Our response to the world is essentially one of wonder, of confronting the mysterious with a sense, not of being small, or insignificant, but of being part of a rich and complex narrative.

and because what we learn in the dark remains all our lives, a noise like the sea, displacing the day's pale knowledge, you'll come to yourself in a glimmer of rainfall or frost, the burnt smell of autumn, a meeting of parallel lines, and know you were someone else for the longest time, pretending you knew where you were, like a diffident tourist, lost on the one main square, and afraid to enquire.

Andy Brown is one of our most interesting and exciting younger poets. With its love of ideas and language, his work demonstrates that there need be no barriers in poetry; that the philosophical, the lyrical and the playful can be combined in work of assured and generous vision.