Poetry Quotes - Page 105

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.

I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!

Emily Dickinson

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

T.S Eliot

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.

My turn shall also come:I sense the spreading of a wing.

Osip Mandelstam

Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away ere break of dayTo seek the pale enchanted gold.The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,While hammers fell like ringing bellsIn places deep, where dark things sleep,In hollow halls beneath the fells.For ancient king and elvish lordThere many a gleaming golden hoardThey shaped and wrought, and light they caughtTo hide in gems on hilt of sword.On silver necklaces they strungThe flowering stars, on crowns they hungThe dragon-fire, in twisted wireThey meshed the light of moon and sun.Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away, ere break of day,To claim our long-forgotten gold.Goblets they carved there for themselvesAnd harps of gold; where no man delvesThere lay they long, and many a songWas sung unheard by men or elves.The pines were roaring on the height,The wind was moaning in the night.The fire was red, it flaming spread;The trees like torches blazed with light.The bells were ringing in the daleAnd men looked up with faces pale;The dragon's ire more fierce than fireLaid low their towers and houses frail.The mountain smoked beneath the moon;The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.They fled their hall to dying fallBeneath his feet, beneath the moon.Far over the misty mountains grimTo dungeons deep and caverns dimWe must away, ere break of day,To win our harps and gold from him!

I am awaitingperpetually and forevera renaissance of wonder

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

to live in this worldyou must be ableto do three thingsto love what is mortal;to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it go

Summer night--even the starsare whispering to each other.

Once, poets were magicians. Poets were strong, stronger than warriors or kings — stronger than old hapless gods. And they will be strong once again.

Greg Bear

A man of my acquaintance once wrote a poem called "The Road Less Traveled", describing a journey he took through the woods along a path most travelers never used. The poet found that the road less traveled was peaceful but quite lonely, and he was probably a bit nervous as he went along, because if anything happened on the road less traveled, the other travelers would be on the road more frequently traveled and so couldn't hear him as he cried for help. Sure enough, that poet is dead.

Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

...and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?

Vincent van Gogh

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.

Novalis

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Music is the universal language of mankind.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.

There is freedom waiting for you,On the breezes of the sky,And you ask "What if I fall?"Oh but my darling,What if you fly?

Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

The rain to the wind said,You push and I'll pelt.'They so smote the garden bedThat the flowers actually knelt,And lay lodged--though not dead.I know how the flowers felt.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?

Emily Dickinson

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.And without feet I can make my way to you,without a mouth I can swear your name.Break off my arms, I'll take hold of youwith my heart as with a hand.Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.And if you consume my brain with fire,I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

Rainer Maria Rilke

You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your kneesfor a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.Meanwhile the world goes on.Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rainare moving across the landscapes,over the prairies and the deep trees,the mountains and the rivers.Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,are heading home again.Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,the world offers itself to your imagination,calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –over and over announcing your placein the family of things.

One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

Let our scars fall in love.

Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gateAnd though I oft have passed them by A day will come at last when IShall take the hidden paths that run West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

As it has been said:Love and a coughcannot be concealed.Even a small cough.Even a small love.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

T.S Eliot

This is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.

T.S Eliot

If you have the words, there's always a chance that you'll find the way.

Always be a poet, even in prose.

Charles Baudelaire

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.

Charles Bukowski

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.

Charles Baudelaire

You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear thorough the search.

Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I goTo heal my heart and drown my woeRain may fall, and wind may blowAnd many miles be still to goBut under a tall tree will I lieAnd let the clouds go sailing by

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

William Shakespeare

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

I have drunken deep of joy,And I will taste no other wine tonight.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.

All that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither,Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.

Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.

Cassandra Clare

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent

The Road Not TakenTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothtAnd be one traveler, long I stoodtAnd looked down one as far as I couldtTo where it bent in the undergrowth;t Then took the other, as just as fair,tAnd having perhaps the better claim,tBecause it was grassy and wanted wear;tThough as for that the passing theretHad worn them really about the same,t And both that morning equally laytIn leaves no step had trodden black.tOh, I kept the first for another day!tYet knowing how way leads on to way,tI doubted if I should ever come back.t I shall be telling this with a sightSomewhere ages and ages hence:tTwo roads diverged in a wood, and I—tI took the one less traveled by,tAnd that has made all the difference.

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

Leonardo da Vinci

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.

Resist much, obey little.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

Some say the world will end in fire,Some say in ice.From what I've tasted of desire,I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twiceI think I know enough of hateTo say that for destruction iceIs also greatAnd would suffice.

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.

G.K. Chesterton

If you are a dreamer come inIf you are a dreamer a wisher a liarA hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyerIf youre a pretender com sit by my fireFor we have some flax golden tales to spinCome in! Come in!

Shel Silverstein

A knowledgeable person without a curious mind is like poetry without essence.

Debasish Mridha

there's always been a little sadnessinside my happiness.i've never been able to separate the two.

Ava

you wanted it all to make senseand you wanted the most complicated answer, but the answer is simple.just be.

Ava

love is my thighs,this belly,my eyes.love is my speech,the search,my cry.love is myself in the mirror.i will see love every time.

Ava

woman-another word for beginning.another word for revolution.another word for healing.another word for being.another word for me.

Ava

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