Poet Quotes

Quotes tagged as "poet" (showing 1-30 of 800)
Hermann Hesse
“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Rick Riordan
“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.”
Rick Riordan

Oscar Wilde
“There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.”
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Maya Angelou
“When Great Trees Fall

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.”
Maya Angelou

William Shakespeare
“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.”
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Jess C. Scott
“Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we’ll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.”
Jess C. Scott, EyeLeash: A Blog Novel

Charles Bukowski
“Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”
Charles Bukowski, Post Office

Edna St. Vincent Millay
“You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay
tags: poet

Criss Jami
“When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side enlightened.”
Criss Jami, Venus in Arms

Allen Ginsberg
“Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!”
Allen Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg
“If I had a soul I sold it
for pretty words
If I had a body I used
it up spurting my essence

Allen Ginsberg warns you
dont follow my path
to extinction”
Allen Ginsberg

Neil Gaiman
“Really, he thought, if you couldn't trust a poet to offer sensible advice, who could you trust?”
Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

Criss Jami
“Create with the heart; build with the mind.”
Criss Jami, Killosophy

Walt Whitman
“I act as the tongue of you,
... tied in your mouth . . . . in mine it begins to be loosened.”
Walt Whitman

George Eliot
“To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern, that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely-ordered variety on the chords of emotion--a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch

Bhagat Singh
“Lovers, Lunatics and poets are made of same stuff.”
Bhagat Singh

Wendell Berry
“How to be a Poet (to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity…

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensional life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.”
Wendell Berry, Given

Lang Leav
“She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.”
Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure

Virginia Woolf
“Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a poet, yes. Surely I am a great poet.”
Virginia Woolf, The Waves

Rainer Maria Rilke
“Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.”
Rainer Maria Rilke

Bob Dylan
“A poem is a naked person....Some people say that I am a poet.”
Bob Dylan

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

“Carpe diem.Seize the day, boys.
Make your lives extraordinary”
Tom Schulman

Tanzy Sayadi
“The aching in my chest
isn't because I miss you,
it's realizing that you have
become someone I no longer know,
your fears, your 4 am thoughts,
your achievements,
are things I no longer have an equivalent to.
Who we were and who we are
are four different people,
and the me from now
doesn't relate to the me from then,
let alone to the you from now.
-Tanzy Sayadi and Jarod Kintz”
Tanzy Sayadi, liQUID PROse QUOtes

Omar Khayyám
“Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n,
and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light”
Omar Khayyám, The Ruba'iyat of Omar Khayyam

Sylvia Plath
“Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.”
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Piet Hein
“After all, what is art? Art is the creative process and it goes through all fields. Einstein’s theory of relativity – now that is a work of art! Einstein was more of an artist in physics than on his violin.
Art is this: art is the solution of a problem which cannot be expressed explicitly until it is solved.”
Piet Hein, Grooks 1

Jorge Luis Borges
“كمن يعود من فردوس مفقود عدتُ من عناقك.‏
كمن يعود من بلد السيوف عدتُ من دموعك.‏
توثبٌ متأخرٌ بقي مثل حلمٍ بين تلك المساءات.‏
ثم رحتُ أُدرك الليالي.‏
والانكسارات.‏”
Jorge Luis Borges
tags: poet

Heinrich Heine
“This was but a prelude;
where books are burnt
human-beings will be burnt
in the end”
Heinrich Heine

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