Nikki > Nikki's Quotes

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  • #1
    Nora Roberts
    “He wanted to be a poet,' someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. 'Said he'd only lacked the words to be one.”
    Nora Roberts, Born in Fire

  • #2
    Charles Bukowski
    “You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.”
    Charles Bukowski, Women

  • #3
    Robert Frost
    “Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”
    Robert Frost

  • #4
    Jasper Fforde
    “Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It's the crack cocaine of the literary world.”
    Jasper Fforde, First Among Sequels

  • #5
    Shel Silverstein
    “If you are a dreamer come in
    If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
    A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
    If youre a pretender com sit by my fire
    For we have some flax golden tales to spin
    Come in!
    Come in!”
    Shel Silverstein

  • #6
    “Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.”

  • #7
    Robert Frost
    “A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”
    Robert Frost

  • #8
    Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious
    “Tell me, what is it you plan to do
    with your one wild and precious life?”
    Mary Oliver

  • #9
    Kahlil Gibran
    “You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.”
    Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

  • #10
    Pablo Neruda
    “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
    in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
    Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

  • #11
    Charles Baudelaire
    “Always be a poet, even in prose.”
    Charles Baudelaire

  • #12
    Ian Fleming
    “You only live twice:
    Once when you are born
    And once when you look death in the face”
    Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice

  • #13
    Pablo Neruda
    “It was at that age
    that poetry came in search of me.”
    Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

  • #14
    Randall Jarrell
    “A poet is a man who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times.”
    Randall Jarrell

  • #15
    Frank O'Hara
    “After the first glass of vodka
    you can accept just about anything
    of life even your own mysteriousness
    you think it is nice that a box
    of matches is purple and brown and is called La Petite and comes from Sweden
    for they are words that you know and that is all you know words not their feelings or what they mean and you write because you know them not because you understand them because you don't you are stupid and lazy and will never be great but you do what you know because what else is there?”
    Frank O'Hara, The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara

  • #16
    Anne Sexton
    “Watch out for intellect,
    because it knows so much it knows nothing
    and leaves you hanging upside down,
    mouthing knowledge as your heart
    falls out of your mouth.”
    Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems

  • #17
    E.E. Cummings
    “nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
    the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
    compels me with the colour of its countries,
    rendering death and forever with each breathing

    (i do not know what it is about you that closes
    and opens;only something in me understands
    the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
    nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

    -excerpt of #35 from "100 Selected Poems”
    E.E. Cummings

  • #18
    Pablo Neruda
    “We the mortals touch the metals,
    the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,
    knowing they will go on, inert or burning,
    and I was discovering, naming all the these things:
    it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.”
    Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

  • #19
    Kobayashi Issa
    “What a strange thing!
    to be alive
    beneath cherry blossoms.”
    Kobayashi Issa, Poems

  • #20
    C.D. Wright
    “Nobody reads poetry, we are told at every inopportune moment. I read poetry. I am somebody. I am the people, too. It can be allowed that an industrious quantity of contemporary American poetry is consciously written for a hermetic constituency; the bulk is written for the bourgeoisie, leaving a lean cut for labor. Only the hermetically aimed has a snowball's chance in hell of reaching its intended ears. One proceeds from this realization. A staggering figure of vibrant, intelligent people can and do live without poetry, especially without the poetry of their time. This figure includes the unemployed, the rank and file, the union brass, banker, scientist, lawyer, doctor, architect, pilot, and priest. It also includes most academics, most of the faculty of the humanities, most allegedly literary editors and most allegedly literary critics. They do so--go forward in their lives, toward their great reward, in an engulfing absence of poetry--without being perceived or perceiving themselves as hobbled or deficient in any significant way. It is nearly true, though I am often reminded of a Transtromer broadside I saw in a crummy office building in San Francisco:

    We got dressed and showed the house

    You live well the visitor said

    The slum must be inside you.

    If I wanted to understand a culture, my own for instance, and if I thought such an understanding were the basis for a lifelong inquiry, I would turn to poetry first. For it is my confirmed bias that the poets remain the most 'stunned by existence,' the most determined to redeem the world in words..”
    C.D. Wright, Cooling Time: An American Poetry Vigil

  • #21
    C.D. Wright
    “I am suggesting that the radical of poetry lies not in the
    resolution of doubts but in their proliferation”
    C.D. Wright, Cooling Time: An American Poetry Vigil

  • #22
    W.B. Yeats
    “What can be explained is not poetry.”
    W.B. Yeats

  • #23
    T.S. Eliot
    “You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
    They called me the hyacinth girl.'
    —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
    Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
    Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
    Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
    Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
    Od' und leer das Meer.”
    T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Writings

  • #24
    June Jordan
    “and if i
    if i ever let love go
    because the hatred and the whisperings
    become a phantom dictate i o-
    bey in lieu of impulse and realities
    (the blossoming flamingos of my
    wild mimosa trees)
    then let love freeze me

    (from i must become a menace to my enemies)”
    June Jordan, Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems

  • #25
    Jon Davis
    “Of the many forms that silence takes, the most memorable is the dry husk of the cicada.”
    Jon Davis

  • #26
    Pablo Neruda
    “Each in the most hidden sack kept
    the lost jewels of memory,
    intense love, secret nights and permanent kisses,
    the fragment of public or private happiness.
    A few, the wolves, collected thighs,
    other men loved the dawn scratching
    mountain ranges or ice floes, locomotives, numbers.
    For me happiness was to share singing,
    praising, cursing, crying with a thousand eyes.
    I ask forgiveness for my bad ways:
    my life had no use on earth.”
    Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

  • #27
    Kobayashi Issa
    I'm here-
    the snow falling.”
    Kobayashi Issa

  • #28
    Salman Rushdie
    “A poet's work . . . to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep.”
    Salman Rushdie

  • #29
    Walt Whitman
    “O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
    Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
    Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
    Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
    Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
    Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
    The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?


    That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
    That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”
    Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

  • #30
    E.E. Cummings
    “Such was a poet and shall be and is
    -who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.”
    E.E. Cummings

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