Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it—whole-heartedly—and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings. [sic]
Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers Struggles the light that is love to the flowers; And, softer than slumber and sweeter than singing, The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing. The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of daytime! They sing in September their songs of the May-time.
Kill your darlings.
Goodnight, my darlings, I'll see you tomorrow.