Poetry Quotes - Page 91

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections,They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

Equally, the surrealists consider words as witnesses of life acting in a direct way in human affairs. To use words properly it was necessary to treat them with respect, for they were the intermediaries between oneself and the rest of creation. To abuse them was immediately to set oneself adrift from true being. Words need to be coaxed to reveal a little of their true nature, so as to close the breach that exists between the writer and the universe. The world is not something alien against which man is in conflict. Rather man and cosmos exist in reciprocal motion. We are not cast adrift in an alien or meaningless environment. The universe is intimate with us and, as Breton insisted, it is a cryptogram to be deciphered.

Michael Richardson

High FlightOh! I have slipped the surly bonds of EarthAnd danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirthof sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred thingsYou have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swungHigh in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flungMy eager craft through footless halls of air....Up, up the long, delirious, burning blueI’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.Where never lark, or even eagle flew —And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trodThe high untrespassed sanctity of space,- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee Jr.

In a fieldI am the absenceof field.This isalways the case.Wherever I amI am what is missing.

Mark Strand

The winds, the sea, and the moving tides are what they are. If there is wonder and beauty and majesty in them, science will discover these qualities... If there is poetry in my book about the sea, it is not because I deliberately put it there, but because no one could write truthfully about the sea and leave out the poetry.

Rachel Carson

whatever you dobe gentle with yourself.you don’t just livein this worldor your homeor your skin.you also livein someone’s eyes.

Sanober Khan

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness -And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Omar Khayyám

Look deeper through the telescopeand do not be afraid when the starscollide towards the darkness,because sometimes the most beautifulthings begin in chaos.

Robert M. Drake

Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

William Shakespeare

contemporary poetry is a kind of Reykjavik, a place where accessibility and intelligence have been fighting a Cold War by proxy for the last half-century.

Nick Hornby

I do think the barsThat kept my spirit in are burst - that IAm sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!How beautiful thou art!

John Keats

La heradera del dia destruida.(The heiress of the destroyed day.)

Pablo Neruda

I love to move like a mouse inside this puzzle for the body, balancing the wish to be lost with the need to be found.

Billy Collins

A door jumpsout from shadows,then jumps away. Thisis what I've come to find:the back door, unlatched.Tooled by insular wind, itslams and slamswithout meaningto and without meaning.

Li-Young Lee

The fountains mingle with the river,And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever,With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single;All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle:— Why not I with thine? See! the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea:— What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

There came one and knocked at the door of the Beloved.And a voice answered and said, 'Who is there?'The lover replied, 'It is I.''Go hence,' returned the voice;'there is no room within for thee and me.'Then came the lover a second time and knocked and again the voice demanded,'Who is there?'He answered, 'It is thou.''Enter,' said the voice, 'for I am within.

Jalaluddin Rumi

At the age of four, you were an artist. And at seven, you were a poet.

Seth Godin

I heard of a manwho says words so beautifullythat if he only speaks their namewomen give themselves to him.If I am dumb beside your bodywhile silence blossoms like tumors on our lipsit is because I hear a man climb stairsand clear his throat outside our door.

Leonard Cohen

Everything you invent is true: you can be sure of that. Poetry is a subject as precise as geometry.

Julian Barnes

Think of what starlight And lamplight would lack Diamonds and fireflies If they couldn’t lean against Black. . . .

Mary O'Neill

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

Alfred Tennyson

I held a jewel in my fingerstAnd went to sleep.tThe day was warm, and winds were prosy;tI said: "'T will keep."I woke and chid my honest fingers,—The gem was gone;tAnd now an amethyst remembrancetIs all I own.

Emily Dickinson

Secretly, deep down, everybody on Earth believes they can write poetry, apart from the members of the Poets' Guild, who know they can't.

K.J. Parker

Dear to me is sleep: still more, being made of stone,While pain and guilt still linger here below,Blindness and numbness--these please me alone;Then do not wake me, keep your voices low.

Michelangelo Buonarroti

I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our speech. The thing is stuck. We get our language back through the language of others. We can turn to the poem. We can open the book. Somebody has been there for us and deep-dived the words.

Jeanette Winterson

Poetry makes nothing happen.

W.H. Auden

Any healthy man can go without food for two days--but not without poetry.

Charles Baudelaire

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?

W.H. Davies

Through endless night the earth whirls toward a creation unknown...

Henry Miller

I don't want tobecause boysdon't write poetry.Girls do.

Sharon Creech

With heart at rest I climbed the citadel'sSteep height, and saw the city as from a tower,Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells,Where evil comes up softly like a flower.Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my pain,Not for vain tears I went up at that hour;But like an old sad faithful lecher, fainTo drink delight of that enormous trullWhose hellish beauty makes me young again.Whether thou sleep, with heavy vapors full,Sodden with day, or, new appareled, standIn gold-laced veils of evening beautiful,I love thee, infamous city! Harlots andHunted have pleasures of their own to give,The vulgar herd can never understand.

Charles Baudelaire

She was a Phantom of delightWhen first she gleam'd upon my sight;A lovely Apparition, sentTo be a moment's ornament:Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;But all things else about her drawnFrom May-time and the cheerful dawn;A dancing shape, an image gay,To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

William Wordsworth

Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.

Sanober Khan

The exceeding brightness of this early sunMakes me conceive how dark I have become.

Wallace Stevens

When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.

Bashō Matsuo

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it

Sylvia Plath

We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.

Jack Gilbert

And watch two men washing clothes,one makes dry clothes wet. The other makes wet clothes dry. they seem to be thwarting each other, but their work is a perfect harmony.Every holy person seems to have a different doctrine and practice, but there's really only one work.

Jalaluddin Rumi

I've had it with these cheap sons of bitches who claim they love poetry but never buy a book.

Kenneth Rexroth

Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's better to swim in the sea belowThan to swing in the air and feed the crow,Says jolly Ned Teach of Bristol.

Benjamin Franklin

Desire, loneliness, wind in the flowering almond—surely these are the great, the inexhaustible subjectsto which my predecessors apprenticed themselves.I hear them echo in my own heart, disguised as convention.

Louise Glück

Sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body.

Warsan Shire

Darling, do you rememberthe man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.

Stanley Kunitz

If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

John Donne

And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.

W.H. Auden

Ye are better than all the balladsThat ever were sung or said;For ye are living poems,And all the rest are dead.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

William Shakespeare

Of the many forms that silence takes, the most memorable is the dry husk of the cicada.

Jon Davis

My heart is strong, I will not fail, I won't be wronged, I will prevail.

Alexandra Lanc

To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying,The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.West, west away, the round sun is falling, Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, The voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;For our days are ending and our years failing.I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!

J.R.R. Tolkien

I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

John Keats

The eye--it cannot choose but see;We cannot bid the ear be still;Our bodies feel, where'er they be,Against or with our will.

William Wordsworth

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold,but just beautiful to listen to.

Sanober Khan

It is difficult to write a paradiso when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse.

Ezra Pound

Here we go mother on the shipless ocean.Pity us, pity the ocean, here we go.

Anne Carson

Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am.

Manuel Alegre

if everything happens that can't be done(and anything's righterthan bookscould plan)the stupidest teacher will almost guess(with a runskiparound we go yes)there's nothing as something as oneone hasn't a why or because or although(and buds know betterthan booksdon't grow)one's anything old being everything new(with a whatwhicharound we come who)one's everyanything soso world is a leaf so tree is a bough(and birds sing sweeterthan bookstell how)so here is away and so your is a my(with a downuparound again fly)forever was never till nownow i love you and you love me(and books are shutterthan bookscan be)and deep in the high that does nothing but fall(with a shouteacharound we go all)there's somebody calling who's wewe're anything brighter than even the sun(we're everything greaterthan booksmight mean)we're everanything more than believe(with a spinleapalive we're alive)we're wonderful one times one

E.E. Cummings

Love is the poetry of the senses!

Honoré de Balzac

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Poetry Quotes - Page 91

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