Spender told Auden he wondered whether he, Spender, ought to write prose. But Auden put his foot down. ‘You must write nothing but poetry, we do not want to lose you for poetry.’ ‘But do you really think I’m any good?’ gulped Spender. ‘Of course,’ Auden frigidly replied. ‘But why?’ ‘Because you are so infinitely capable of being humiliated. Art is born of humiliation.’
—oh yeah