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Quotes About Poetry

Quotes tagged as "poetry" (showing 2,971-3,000 of 3,000)
Anaïs Nin
“I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.”
Anaïs Nin

“poetry.
is the fire leaving my body.”
Nayyirah Waheed, salt.
tags: poetry

Charlotte Eriksson
“I am a free soul, singing my heart out by myself no matter where I go and I call strangers my friends because I learn things and find ways to fit them into my own world. I hear what people say, rearrange it, take away and tear apart until it finds value in my reality and there I make it work. I find spaces in between the cracks and cuts where it feels empty
and there I make it work.”
Charlotte Eriksson

Charlotte Eriksson
“He left that morning, the last words still echoing in my head, and though he said he’d come back one day I know a broken promise from a right one for I have used them myself and there is no coming back. Minds like ours are can’t be tamed and the price for freedom is the price we pay.”
Charlotte Eriksson

Hank Moody
“That was not sex. That was naked poetry.”
Hank Moody

Anne Brontë
“In all we do, and hear, and see,
Is restless Toil and Vanity.
While yet the rolling earth abides,
Men come and go like ocean tides”
Anne Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

“Being a blesséd writer is a cursed attribute, when you wish to no longer be encompassed by someone and yet you are surrounded by loose leaf papers filled with the sound of his voice.”
Elizabeth Brooks

Emily Brontë
“To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;
And visions rising, legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.”
Emily Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

Anne Brontë
“Because the road is rough and long,
Shall we despise the skylark’s song,
That cheers the wanderer’s way?
Or trample down, with reckless feet,
The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet,
Because they soon decay?”
Anne Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell
tags: poetry

Leonard Cohen
“Dear friend, I have searched all night
through each burnt paper,
but I fear I will never find
the formula to let you die”
Leonard Cohen, Let Us Compare Mythologies

Charles Baudelaire
“I walk alone, absorbed in my fantastic play, —
Fencing with rhymes, which, parrying nimbly, back away;
Tripping on words, as on rough paving in the street,
Or bumping into verses I long had dreamed to meet.”
Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

Maya Angelou
A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.”
Maya Angelou
tags: poetry

C.P. Cavafy
“Άλλα ζητεί η ψυχή σου, γι’ άλλα κλαίει·”
C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems

Dan Simmons
“To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity.”
Dan Simmons, Hyperion

Anne Brontë
“Though solitude, endured too long,
Bids youthful joys too soon decay,
Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue,
And overclouds my noon of day;

When kindly thoughts that would have way,
Flow back discouraged to my breast;
I know there is, though far away,
A home where heart and soul may rest.

Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine,
The warmer heart will not belie;
While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine
In smiling lip and earnest eye.

The ice that gathers round my heart
May there be thawed; and sweetly, then,
The joys of youth, that now depart,
Will come to cheer my soul again.”
Anne Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

Peter S. Beagle
“[The unicorn] sighed and plodded on, both amused and disappointed. It serves you right, she told herself. You know better than to expect a butterfly to know your name. All they know are songs and poetry, and anything else they hear. They mean well, but they can’t keep things straight. And why should they, they die so soon.”
Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

Charlotte Eriksson
“An artist must be passionately in love with her art. Obsessed or possessed ― go mad for what you believe in.”
Charlotte Eriksson

Anne Brontë
“Oh, Youth may listen patiently,
While sad Experience tells her tale,
But Doubt sits smiling in his eye,
For ardent Hope will still prevail!

He hears how feeble Pleasure dies,
By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe;
He turns to Hope—and she replies,
“Believe it not-it is not so!”
Anne Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

Leonard Cohen
“How may we be saints and live in golden coffins
Who will leave on our stone shelves
pathetic notes for intervention
How may we be calm marble gods at ocean altars
Who will murder us for some high reason”
Leonard Cohen, Let Us Compare Mythologies
tags: poetry

Emily Brontë
“I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.

I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.”
Emily Brontë, Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

Christina Rossetti
“For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,
I live alone, I look to die alone:
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge,
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back,
My heart goes sighing after swallows flown
On sometime summer's unreturning track.”
Christina Rossetti, The Complete Poems

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“If you had swum across the furthest ocean
And seen the vastness of infinity
Though dread of death might seize you, you'd still see
The rolling waves in never-ceasing motion

You'd still see something: Schools of dolphins swimming
Across the green and placid waters, skimming
The clouds, the sun and the moon, stars overhead -
You will see nothing in that void all round
You will not hear your footsteps where you tread
Beneath your feet, you'll feel no solid ground”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Fernando Pessoa
“The poet is a faker / Who's so good at his act / He even fakes the pain / Of pain he feels in fact.”
Fernando Pessoa

“If were a shower
I could saturate your hair
Work my way over your lips
Across your shoulders
Around your waist
Through your knees
To the tips of your toes
And back again
Warm wet salty
Sweet”
Nikki Giovanni Boiled Blues

Jack Kerouac
“Love is bitter, death is sweet.”
Jack Kerouac, Maggie Cassidy

“There is a German satellite falling to Earth. She says, “What if it hits me”?
Welcome to Anxiety Group. The kingdom of the sweaty palm and the jiggling leg where the women wrap themselves up tight, where the men bite nails ‘til blood. We are the magnifiers of molehills. We are the princess of panic, the ambassadors of anguish. There is no pride here.

We lack the discipline of the eating disorder group, lack the self-righteousness of bereavement group, and we’re not as fun as procrastinators anonymous.

Nobody wants to be here.

Me? I don’t sleep. can’t sleep. I make insomnia look professional. Make your tossing and turning look like afternoon hiccups. The longest I’ve gone is nine days, went literally insane. Sleep deprivation is a form of torture, you know, and I do this to myself.

Melatonin makes me sad, Benadryl is for amateurs, Hypnotics turn off the lights too quickly, and weed makes me crazy. Diazepam, Lorazepam, Bromazepam, Alprazolam. Klonopin is the only thing that works and they’re weaning me off it, so like a baby forced to remove breast from mouth, take bottle instead, I got sent to Anxiety Group.

And apparently, we’re all going to die. Because while the girl to my left worries that the satellite will hit her, the woman to my right worries that it will hit a nuclear power plant and then we’re all fucked. My father says: ‘Only rich people go to therapy, poor people got shit to do’, and yet here I am in this lifeboat, surrounded by eight of the most beautiful, crazy as motherfuckers the world has ever seen.

‘What if it’s not just a mole? What if it’s a flesh-eating virus?’ ‘What if I fail at life?’ ‘But what if it really is the rapture this time?’ ‘What if they hit us again?’ ‘What if I wake one morning to see planes of scraping skies again?’ ‘What if it’s me this time?’ and I think, wow, it must be exhausting to want to live this much.

Fuck the depressives. Fuck the body image meditation group. Fuck sex addicts anonymous. Give me your tired, your poor, your anxious, your huddled masses yearning to breathe deeply and count to ten.

Give me this collection of blurted confessions of psychosomatic itch of twitch, and tick, and stutter, and sweat. Give me these weak-kneed, jumpy-ass, too much saliva, break out in hives, awkward stomach, hair falling out, chewing lips, restless leg, pounding heart bastards any day of the week.

These people who fight through every day like fucking gladiators who fight demons worse than you, and I can dream of, just because they want so badly to live. To hold on. To love. Because you can’t be this afraid of losing everything if you don’t love everything first, because you have to have a soul-crushing hope that things will get better to be this afraid of losing it.”
Catalina Ferro

Charles Bukowski
“when Whitman wrote, “I sing the body electric”
I know what he
meant
I know what he
wanted:

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can’t cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take
us

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as
ours”
Charles Bukowski

“Camera obscura

Door je grote pupillen
zou ik mijn hand willen steken
om op de tast te zoeken naar
de beelden die je van mij bewaart.

Ik zou mijn aanblik voelen
en weten waar ik je heb aangeraakt,
waar ik nog warm ben in je
en waar ik al ben afgekoeld.”
Adriaan Morriën, Verzamelde gedichten
tags: poetry

Michael Bassey Johnson
“...for if a woman's body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.”
Michael Bassey Johnson, Classic Quotations From The Otherworlds

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