" TYRONE
[Stares at him -- impressed.]
Yes, there's the makings of a poet in you all right.
[Then protesting uneasily]
But that's morbid craziness about not being wanted and loving death.
EDMUND
[Sardonically]
The makings of a poet. No, I'm afraid I'm like the guy who is always panhandling for a smoke. He hasn't even got the makings. He's got only the habit. I couldn't touch what I tried to tell you just now. I just stammered. That's the best I'll ever do, I mean, if I live. Well, it will be faithful realism, at least. Stammering is the native eloquence of us fog people. "
― Eugene O'Neill , Long Day's Journey into Night