Poetic Prose Quotes

Quotes tagged as "poetic-prose" (showing 1-30 of 73)
Raymond Chandler
“I was as hollow and empty as the spaces between stars.”
Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

Madeline Miller
“Her mouth was a gash of red, like the torn-open stomach of a sacrifice, bloody and oracular. Behind it her teeth shone sharp and white as bone.”
Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

William Shakespeare
“She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.”
William Shakespeare, Othello

Azar Nafisi
“i could have told him to learn from Gatsby. from the lonely, isolated Gatsby, who also tried to retrieve his past and give flash and blood to a fancy, a dream that was never meant to be more than a dream.”
Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books

Stephen King
“Maybe he was as mad as he said he was, but she could see only a species of miserable fright. Suddenly, like the thud of a boxing glove on her mouth, she saw how close to the edge of everything he was. The agency was tottering, that was bad enough, and now, on top of that, like a grisly dessert following a putrid main course, his marriage was tottering too. She felt a rush of warmth for him, for this man she had sometimes hated and had, for the last three hours at least, feared. A kind of epiphany filled her. Most of all, she hoped he would always think he had been as mad as hell, and not . . . not the way his face said he felt.”
Stephen King, Cujo

Lori R. Lopez
“Poetry is the language of the soul;
Poetic Prose, the language of my heart.
Each line must flow as in a song,
and strike a chord that rings forever.
To me, words are music!”
Lori R. Lopez

Laini Taylor
“As she walked, clock towers across Prague started arguing midnight, and the long, fraught Monday came at last to a close.”
Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke & Bone

Philippe Delerm
You arrive in the basement. Immediatly it catches you. Apples are here, lying on fruit trays, turned crates. You didn't think about it. You had no wish to be flooded by this melancholic wave. But you can't resist. Apple scent is a breaker. How could you manage without this childhood, bitter and sweet ?
Shrivelled fruits surely are delicious, from this feak dryness where candied taste seems to have wormed in each wrinkle. But you don't wish to eat them. Particularly don't turn into an identifiable taste this floating power of smell. Say that it smells good, strong? But not ..... It's beyond .... An inner scent, scent of a better oneself. Here is shut up school autumn, with purple ink we scratch paper with down strokes and thin strokes. Rain bangs against glasses, evening will be long ....
But apple perfume is more than past. You think about formerly because of fullness and intensity from a remembrance of salpetered cellar, dark attic. But it's to live here, stay here, stand up.
You have behind you high herbs and damp orchards. Ahead it's like a warm blow given in the shade. Scent got all browns, all reds with a bit of green acid. Scent distilled skin softness, its tiny roughness. Lips dried, we alreadyt know that this thirst is not to be slaked.
Nothing would happen if you bite the white flesh. You would need to become october, mud floor, moss of cellar, rain, expectation.
Apple scent is painful. It's from a stronger life, a slowness we deserve no more.”
Philippe Delerm

“As dawn leaks into the sky it edits out the stars like excess punctuation marks, deleting asterisks and periods, commas, and semi-colons, leaving only unhinged thoughts rotating and pivoting, and unsecured words.”
Ann Zwinger, Downcanyon: A Naturalist Explores the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon

Kimberly Kinrade
“Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke—who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught—and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting.

And then I dreamed....”
Kimberly Kinrade, Forbidden Fire

“...she could not think of what had happened to her that day, or of what might happen that night. Instead, she watched the lamplighters move along the avenues even as their celestial counterparts set the stars alight in the sky. The rain had washed the city clean, and the air was a confection of clematis and violets and peony. Music and light spilled out of so many grand houses that the two seemed at once ubiquitous and united, as if to play a note was to send forth a ray of illumination, and a quartet was enough to set the grandest halls aglitter.”
Galen Beckett, The Magicians and Mrs. Quent

Taylor Rhodes
“purple threaded evening. a torn goddess laying on the roof. milk sky. lavender hued moan against hot asphalt. the thickness of evening presses into your throat. polaroids taped to the ceiling. ivy pouring out of the cracks in the wall. i found my courage buried beneath molding books and forgot to lock the door behind me. the old house never forgets. opened my mouth and a dandelion fell out. reached behind my wisdom teeth and found sopping wet seeds. pulled all of my teeth out just to say i could. he drowned himself in a pill bottle and the orange really brought out his demise. lay me down on a bed of ground spices. there’s a song there, i know it. amethyst geode eyes. cracked open. no one saw it coming.
october never loved you.
the moon still doesn’t understand that.”
Taylor Rhodes, calloused: a field journal

Angela Elwell Hunt
“Like blood out of a wound, a keening wail rose from the bottom of my heart and ripped through the graveyard. I lowered my face to Hadassah's shoulder and went quietly and thoroughly to pieces.”
Angela Elwell Hunt, Magdalene

Angela Colleen Prendergast
“In a world muddled with madness, I made a conscious effort to stay sane.”
Angela Colleen Prendergast, Overthought Thoughts of a 21-Year-Old

“The Big Dipper wheels on its bowl. In years hence it will have stopped looking like a saucepan and will resemble a sugar scoop as the earth continues to wobble and the dipper’s seven stars speed in different directions.”
Ann Zwinger, Downcanyon: A Naturalist Explores the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon

Amy E. Reichert
“Devlin gave her a kiss, took her hand, and walked right over her plans. Lou struggled to breathe under the weight of his version of their future.”
Amy E. Reichert, The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

Taylor Rhodes
“we are born into this world on the tailcoats of a scream. born into gritted teeth and a shock of red across the pristine. born into a solemn hush. are you evil? you, who tore into this world on a steed of crimson… are you a monster? we are born as angels, toothless, a mouth a gurgling brook. and as we grow, so do our wings, until we are high enough to see that our church is no more than a small forest and the altar a tree. are you a monster, angel with fangs? all teeth, thick with teeth, you can’t even close your mouth anymore. it rains and it’s like drowning.

corn husk skin and we’re born again. into a time of being tied down, to a person, to a bed. a time of clipped wings. of holy cries out to a void. your wildness a convenience store in the desert, pale pink, dusty, arid. your wildness staring longingly at the screaming horizon and flicking another cigarette butt into the dirt, a lone oscillating fan its only company. we’re born into this concrete world, where sanctuary is to be alone or to pretend to like it. this world of broken bottles instead of leaf crunch. roadside motels proclaiming vacancies. inside and out. that pluck your heartstrings. a new church, a fresh sin. the altar now a white railing against a muted matte pink wall. you lean against it, hips jutted to the side. some of the eighties still lingers. you see a man in a leather jacket kissing a girl’s neck purple. he looks up. teeth are everywhere. hundreds of glistening teeth. you turn away. your wings shush against an old telephone booth, door forced closed. you’re calling your mother to say you’re sorry for hurting her, but when she answers you hang up.”
Taylor Rhodes, calloused: a field journal

Arundhati Roy
“She thought of Chacko's laugh, and a smile stayed in her eyes for a long time.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

“Ojalá cobraran voz mis brazos, y mis manos, y mi pelo, y mis pies, por el arte de Dédalo o de algún dios, para agarrarse todos de tus rodillas, conjurándote con llanto y con palabras de todas las clases.”
Euripides, Hecuba

“Con la ayuda de sus bellos ojos destrozó de la peor manera a la próspera Troya.”
Euripides, Hecuba

Patrick Bryant
“Was that—did she just grin at me? To me? A moment of stillness in this moment of pause. Without speaking, we let our gazes wander slow, groping to confirm relief in the other. There's a subdued excitement for the oncoming sharing of whatever's waiting for us behind that heavy iron door, exclusive—two solitary embers, isolated in their separate pits, far away but fanned by the same wind, the same night, alone with the night, their respective camps all gone to sleep, flaring softly cradled calling, out against the great dark backdrop of the great unknown.”
Patrick Bryant

William S. Burroughs
“I was working the hole with the Sailor and we did not bad fifteen cents on average night boosting the afternoons and short timing the dawn we made out from the land of the free but I was running out of veins.”
William S. Burroughs, The Soft Machine

Manuel Rivas
“Era una noche de viento, de mucho acordeón en el mar”
Manuel Rivas

“She lifts her eyes, and there is Death in the corner, but not like a king with his iron crown, as the epics claimed. Why, it is a giant brush loaded with white paint. It descends upon her with gentle suddenness, obliterating the shape of the world.”
Chitri Banerjee Divakaruni

Helena Dahlgren
“Natten så mörk och ljum att man ville äta den med sked, som chokladglass.”
Helena Dahlgren, Orkidépojken

Michael Punke
“Le géant poussa un dernier soupir et mourut à la clarté des étoiles de la plaine.”
Michael Punke, The Revenant

Linda Boström Knausgård
“Dagar och nätter liknar varandra. Tystnaden mjukar upp konturerna så att allt kläs i ett slags dis. Vi kan kalla det halvdager. Vi kan kalla det vad som helst.”
Linda Boström Knausgård, Välkommen till Amerika

Linda Boström Knausgård
“Sömnen kom som en mörk dimma varje natt. Den lade sig över mig och jag hade bara någon centimeters luft mellan mitt ansikte och dimman.”
Linda Boström Knausgård, Välkommen till Amerika

Gustave Flaubert
“Emma notaba el corazón, que volvía a latirle, y cómo le circulaba la sangre por la carne como un río de leche”
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

Emna BH
“One sad, one dead,
One wants to get her out of his head.
In the silence where no word was spoken,
Someone felt that they’re finally broken.”
Emna BH, Valencia

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