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40f49b8 "I never dreamed the sea so deep, The earth so dark; so long my sleep, poetry Allen Ginsberg
0b0535a "Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap poetry e.e. cummings
23956c8 She was broken, I think it's because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
f6546cd "the worst thing," he told me, "is bitterness, people end up so bitter." personality individuality poem poetry death life love in-the-end bukowski bitterness self soul Charles Bukowski
3d8c645 "I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth,--the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names." poetry death truth keats emily dickinson
5676850 It is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, that will be his best and only bulwark. revenge poetry Seamus Heaney
f99c3ea Madness and chaos are self-destructing but over thinking is the suicide. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
b70a579 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! poetry song legolas J. R. R. Tolkien
abefe7a Though we tremble before uncertain future mestiza feminism poetry inspirational Gloria Anzaldúa
211c323 If I lived a million lives, I would've felt a million feelings and I still would've fallen a million times for you. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
5e141e5 and love is a word used too much and much too soon. poem poetry love classics i-love-you patience classic Charles Bukowski
59e6bb3 "To create art means poetry bukowskisism Charles Bukowski
02ffae1 Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. passion poetry reason soul Kahlil Gibran
0e0f718 When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. poetry sonnet-xxix William Shakespeare
1558be1 she lived with hurricane eyes and fell in love with the way the waves collapsed against her cheeks. poetry love inspirational Christopher Poindexter
65ce33c "Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, poetry Robert Frost
6fd6715 It's funny, for all it took was a broken heart and that alone was enough, enough for her to do everything she ever dreamed of. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
9ca56a3 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. poetry George Eliot
372a061 Appreciate the moment of a first kiss; it may be the last time you own your heart. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
564e17c "I don't think that I've been in love as such Although I liked a few folk pretty well Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch for brave men died and empires rose and fell For love, girls follow boys to foreign lands and men have followed women into hell In plays and poems someone understands there's something makes us more than blood and bone and more than biological demands For me love's like the wind, unseen, unknown I see the trees are bending where it's been I know that it leaves wreckage where it's blown I really don't know what "I love you" means I think it means "don't leave me here alone" poem poetry love sonnet Neil Gaiman
f143eda Society will always be too fragile to accept us for all that makes us beautiful. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
c357f7f The truth is I didn't need therapy; I just needed to feel loved and know that someone out there craved my attention. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
b97d9ec Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
de01274 Were knowledge all, what were our nee philosophical poetry love inspirational Christopher Brennan
1e3b69d My world was the size of a crayon box, and it took every colour to draw her poetry innocence Sarah Kay
6ddfc14 "Sometimes, looking at the many books I have at home, I feel I shall die before I come to the end of them, yet I cannot resist the temptation of buying new books. Whenever I walk into a bookstore and find a book on one of my hobbies -- for example, Old English or Old Norse poetry -- I say to myself, "What a pity I can't buy that book, for I already have a copy at home." poetry book-collecting Jorge Luis Borges
bfd4b85 Don't you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back? poetry L.M. Montgomery
bd7f3b5 If you want to annoy a poet, explain his poetry. poetry wisdom details autism wisdom-vs-nerds nerdiness intuition nerds nerd Nassim Nicholas Taleb
9f35528 I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love. poetry love yearning Sylvia Plath
14da37f girls please give your bodies and your lives to the young men who deserve them besides there is no way I would welcome the intolerable dull senseless hell you would bring me and I wish you luck in bed and out but not in mine thank you. irony poem poetry women funny death life love bukowski dull girls misogyny rejection sexuality hell Charles Bukowski
787322d So here is my story, may it bring Some smiles and a tear or so, It happened once upon a time, Far away, and long ago, Outside the night wind keens and wails, Come listen to me, the Teller of Tales! poem poetry Brian Jacques
79be547 "For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, poe poetry death love Edgar Allan Poe
70695ff "I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten - golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale - faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people - They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human - They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: - Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, poe poetry happiness horror Edgar Allan Poe
370af40 Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain -- madness sanity poetry Emily Dickinson
9fa5dfa I had to learn to live without you and I couldn't make sense of it, because I left so much of me inside of you. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
b63aaa4 To be human is to be broken and broken is its own kind of beautiful. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
7809342 "and sometimes I sit down at my typewriter and I think not of someone cause there isn't anyone to think poetry writing Nikki Giovanni
1300c36 "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought-- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; poetry nonsense lewis-carroll Lewis Carroll
d9505b8 " So early it's still almost dark out. I'm near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought. When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper. They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They are so happy they aren't saying anything, these boys. I think if they could, they would take each other's arm. It's early in the morning, and they are doing this thing together. They come on, slowly. The sky is taking on light, though the moon still hangs pale over the water. Such beauty that for a minute death and ambition, even love, doesn't enter into this. Happiness. It comes on poetry life Raymond Carver
bf94e48 And I learned what is obvious to a child. That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. poetry breezes sunsets dreaming child Nicholas Sparks
3a992d6 "GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, poetry Robert Frost
53ea712 love is a deeper season than reason; my sweet one poetry reason E.E. Cummings
7cc533f "He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust. He danced along the dingy days, And this bequest of wings words literature poetry Emily Dickinson
5b61f29 The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. poetry sadness music rest longing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
4e88dcd Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure. poetry knowledge George Eliot
5f9383d REMEMBER YOUR GREATNES existence giant living-achievement loss struggles suffering suzy-kassem poem courage poetry human achieve beauty confidence strength success life wisdom inspirational winners born great affirmation eye loser egg sperm winner big attitude survivor winning obstacles small competition odds greatness successful birth pains race warrior victory losing fears win Suzy Kassem
7a9d64d The world was fair, the mountains tall In Elder Days before the fall... poetry J.R.R. Tolkien
a3e1bb6 My heart born naked was swaddled in lullabies. Later alone it wore poems for clothes. Like a shirt I carried on my back the poetry I had read. So I lived for half a century until wordlessly we met. From my shirt on the back of the chair I learn tonight how many years of learning by heart I waited for you. poetry John Berger
01324f9 I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) poetry reality Sylvia Plath
07012be The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice. words poetry living transience Virginia Woolf
cf461a1 She was broken from moment to moment, watching her world collide she felt lost inside herself. She fell apart for a passion that flamed beneath her. She waited and died a hundred times, it dripped from her pores. The moment she let go, she soared over the stillness like the star she was born to be. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
e1d6a9d I will love you with too many commas, but never any asterisks. poetry Sarah Kay
38afa40 The blood jet is poetry There is no stopping it. poetry Sylvia Plath
8cd7449 My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass. words poetry Federico García Lorca
32dffd8 It was never about the world being too big, it was more like she was too much for the world to handle. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
3395026 In the final analysis it is between you and God, it was never between you and them anyway. poetry inspirational Mother Teresa
7994c48 Maybe I hope too much. Maybe I dream too much or maybe I love too much to just give up on you. happyquotes inspired instadaily instaquote pinquotes poems quoteoftheday relationships rmdrake spokenword vsco writer poetry writing quote hope inspirational inspirationalquotes sadquotes typewriter tattoo sayings lovequotes quotes robert m drake
61591ab she wasn't very interesting but few people are. poem poetry people women humanity family death life love bukowski interesting conversation society Charles Bukowski
544ffb6 We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in 's familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road -- the one less traveled by -- offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth. earth poem nature poetry robert-frost frost preservation environment survival Rachel Carson
13d0dbe I think there is a song out there to describe just about any situation. musician world poetry humanity music songs life truth inspirational lyrics songwriting art connection song-lyrics artist Criss Jami
26d3d6f "History says, Don't hope On this side of the grave, But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave poetry Seamus Heaney
4e1511f I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been. poetry Robert Frost
f96f31c I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head. and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and you enter it as easily as breathing in I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary. poetry love Margaret Atwood
23840d8 Nothing would be easier without you, because you are everything, all of it- sprinkles, quarks, giant donuts, eggs sunny-side up- you are the ever-expanding universe to me. universe poetry Kate DiCamillo
abb9f32 there's no clarity. there was never meant to be clarity. loneliness poem poetry death life love bukowski clarity nonsense lonely Charles Bukowski
ad3cbeb You call it hope -- that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire. poetry Edgar Allan Poe
ba0312e "..."vers libre," (free verse) or nine-tenths of it, is not a new metre any more than sleeping in a ditch is a new school of architecture." poetry funny free-verse free-verse-poetry funny-but-true G.K. Chesterton
0f52444 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. words poetry Virginia Woolf
8cf017d There are moments in every relationship that define when two people start to fall in love slam-poetry poetry love inspirational Colleen Hoover
996c350 REQUIEM Under the wide and starry sky Dig the grave and let me lie: Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: poetry Robert Louis Stevenson
c6cec63 Green in nature is one thing, green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces. literature nature poetry writing green drama Virginia Woolf
6c09794 The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes. seasons winter poets poetry writing apple april auden byron de-la-mare insomnia longfellow may morris nocturnal season september shelley spender tennyson pope apples coffee spring wordsworth milton fall hart-crane autumn tea keats night writers burns schiller Helen Bevington
4ad52d4 O love, how did you get here? --Nick and the Candlestick poetry Sylvia Plath
4b9f87e sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted - stretched there upon my bed in the dark looking upward at the ceiling i get what many will consider an obnoxious thought: it's still nice to be Bukowski. irony poem poetry funny obnoxious ego ironic Charles Bukowski
72ed062 For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but i feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. poetry Edgar Allan Poe
99dd1a6 Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious. poetry writing Charles Bukowski
b7950e6 "I paid, got up, walked to the door, opened it. I heard the man say, "that guy's nuts." out on the street I walked north feeling curiously honored." irony poem poetry funny death life mental self honor crazy soul Charles Bukowski
02d7c7c "Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. murder poetry death primal-scene horror vampires Charles Baudelaire
8e1b8dd "Will grinned. "Some of these books are dangerous," he said. "It's wise to be careful.""One must always be careful of books," said Tessa, "and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us.""I'm not sure a book has ever changed me," said Will. "Well, there is one volume that promises to teach one how to turn oneself into an entire flock of sheep--""Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry," said Tessa" -- poetry books fandom fandom-talk literarature the-clockwork-angel tid william-herondale the-infernal-devices clockwork-angel tessa-gray will-herondale cassandra-clare bookworms Cassandra Clare
84c4d60 Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove poetry pleasure Christopher Marlowe
a1f2ce6 "At least I want to get up early one more morning, before sunrise. Before the birds, even. I want to throw cold water on my face and be at my work table when the sky lightens and smoke begins to rise from the chimneys of the other houses. I want to see the waves break on this rocky beach, not just hear them break as I did in my sleep. I want to see again the ships that pass through the Strait from every seafaring country in the world - old, dirty freighters just barely moving along, and the swift new cargo vessels painted every color under the sun that cut the water as they pass. I want to keep an eye out for them. And for the little boat that plies the water between the ships and the pilot station near the lighthouse. I want to see them take a man off the ship and put another one up on board. I want to spend the day watching this happen and reach my own conclusions. I hate to seem greedy - I have so much to be thankful for already. But I want to get up early one more morning, at least. poetry Raymond Carver
f72b305 "Happiness. It comes on poetry Raymond Carver
787c610 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. romance poetry Nora Roberts
103f0f6 "If you only write when you're inspired you may be a fairly decent poet, but you'll never be a novelist because you're going to have to make your word count today and those words aren't going to wait for you whether you're inspired or not. poetry writing Neil Gaiman
5314260 You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, (For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!) To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you- Without these friendships-life, what cauchemar! poetry T.S. Eliot
e8304ee I felt a Cleaving in my Mind-- As if my Brain had split-- I tried to match it--Seam by Seam-- But could not make it fit. poetry Emily Dickinson
0ca29e2 The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. stars light poetry night Sylvia Plath
8a06ed8 " Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors. The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside. Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them. Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air. Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack. They speak of humanity. My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of that same poverty. They speak of homeland. My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls. Time is living me. More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude. They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow. poetry Jorge Luis Borges
92a6be0 "Okay, we didn't work, and all memories to tell you the truth aren't good. But sometimes there were good times. Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep beside me and never dreamed afraid. poem poetry love failure Sandra Cisneros (Author)
7404189 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. poems writer poetry writing plath journals sylvia-plath poet Sylvia Plath
d522f62 What wretched poverty of language! To compare stars to diamonds! stars poetry Gustave Flaubert
1ef550d No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead. poetry individual tradition T.S. Eliot
2d93c77 I once broke up with a boy because he wrote me an awful poem. poem poetry Karen Joy Fowler
939b2eb Hinged to forgetfulness like a door, she slowly closed out of sight, and she was the woman I loved, but too many times she slept like a mechanical deer in my caresses, and I ached in the metal silence of her dreams. poetry love Richard Brautigan
f9fb030 "These are all direct quotes, except every time they use a curse word, I'm going to use the name of a famous American poet: 'You Walt Whitman-ing, Edna St. Vincent Millay! Go Emily Dickinson your mom!' 'Thanks for the advice, you pathetic piece of E.E. Cummings, but I think I'm gonna pass.' 'You Robert Frost-ing Nikki Giovanni! Get a life, nerd. You're a virgin.' poetry humor nerdfighters poet John Green
3767773 "However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were." "And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!" "I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy. "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away." -- poetry love Jane Austen
126904f "Twas the night before Thanksgiving. poem poetry thanksgiving masturbation Craig Ferguson
f31ffe6 I saw thee once - only once - years ago: I must not say how many - but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared stir, unless on tiptoe - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in the parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell upon the upturn'd faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturn'd - alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight - Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footsteps stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! - oh, G**! How my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused - I looked - And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind the garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out: The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All - all expired save thee - save less than thou: Save only divine light in thine eyes - Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them - they were the world to me. I saw but them - saw only them for hours - Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition! yet how deep - How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go - they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me - they lead me through the years. They are my ministers - yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindle - My duty, to be saved by their bright fire, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope,) And are far up in Heaven - the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still - two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun! poetry whitman helen Edgar Allan Poe
e240c07 Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him! loss poetry heartbreak love Emily Dickinson
22355ac I see all of us reading ourselves away from ourselves, straining in circles of light to find more light until the line of words becomes a trail of crumbs that we follow across a page of fresh snow words literature reading poetry Billy Collins
96ab741 All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. poetry love sonnet-43 sonnet-xliii Shakespeare; William
31aa6b6 It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road. poems poetry Virginia Woolf
0888fb0 "down with hell and heaven and all the religious fuss poetry religion E. E. Cummings
8ade2c6 Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. poetry writing Seamus Heaney
7292b3f A garden should make you feel you've entered privileged space -- a place not just set apart but reverberant -- and it seems to me that, to achieve this, the gardener must put some kind of twist on the existing landscape, turn its prose into something nearer poetry. nature poetry landscape gardening Michael Pollan
58895b7 A certain person wondered why a big strong girl like me wouldn't keep a job which paid a normal salary. I took my time to lead her and to read her every page. Even minimal people can't survive on minimal wage. A certain person wondered why I wait all week for you. I didn't have the words to describe just what you do. I said you had the motion of the ocean in your walk, and when you solve my riddles you don't even have to talk. poetry Maya Angelou
0da77ae One fine day, in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other. They pulled out their swords and shot one another. One deaf cop, on the beat heard the noise, and came and shot the two dead boys. poetry valiant Holly Black
e46e256 "The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea; And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure; And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. For self is a sea boundless and measureless. Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth." Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path." For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals." poetry truth growth soul Kahlil Gibran
149dcb0 Everything you invent is true: you can be sure of that. Poetry is a subject as precise as geometry. poets poetry writing reality writers creativity Julian Barnes
5577880 I watched the spinning stars, grateful, sad and proud, as only a man who has outlived his destiny and realizes he might yet forge himself another, can be. stars poetry life sense-of-wonder pride longing Roger Zelazny
733cd7f It is time to float on the waters of the night. Time to wrap my arms around this book and press it to my chest, life preserver in a sea of unremarkable men and women, anonymous faces on the street, a hundred thousand unalphabetized things, a million forgotten hours. poetry Billy Collins
c9ab223 Wild Nights - Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a heart in port - Done with the compass - Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah, the sea! Might I moor - Tonight - In thee! poetry Emily Dickinson
f29994c "The Apache don't have a word for love," he said. "Know what they both say at the marriage? The squaw-taking ceremony?" "Tell me." "Varlebena. It means forever. That's all they say." poetry Louis L'Amour
17612f9 Relate comic things in pompous fashion. Irregularity, in other words the unexpected, the surprising, the astonishing, are essential to and characteristic of beauty. Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony. The blend of the grotesque and the tragic are attractive to the mind, as is discord to blase ears. Imagine a canvas for a lyrical, magical farce, for a pantomime, and translate it into a serious novel. Drown the whole thing in an abnormal, dreamy atmosphere, in the atmosphere of great days ... the region of pure poetry. irony poetry writing fantasy grotesque novel writers creativity Charles Baudelaire
7c101e7 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. words literature reading poetry healing language trauma Jeanette Winterson
2883b2f Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion. To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain. poetry reason serenity mysticism G.K. Chesterton
0335cce "I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep." I woke and chid my honest fingers,-- The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own." poetry Emily Dickinson
4aee859 Ask him why there are hypocrites in the world.' 'Because it is hard to bear the happiness of others.' 'When are we happy?' 'When we desire nothing and realize that possession is only momentary, and so are forever playing.' 'What is regret?' 'To realize that one has spent one's life worrying about the future.' 'What is sorrow?' 'To long for the past.' 'What is the highest pleasure?' 'To hear a good story. sorrow poetry hinduism pleasure Vikram Chandra
9607106 "When it comes, you'll be dreaming that you don't need to breathe; that breathless silence is the music of the dark poetry Wisława Szymborska
d31ca02 "To Helen I saw thee once-once only-years ago; I must not say how many-but not many. It was a july midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light Thier odorous souls in an ecstatic death- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted by thee, by the poetry of thy prescence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses And on thine own, upturn'd-alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate that, on this july midnight- Was it not Fate (whose name is also sorrow) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred; the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh Heaven- oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two worlds!) Save only thee and me. I paused- I looked- And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out; The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All- all expired save thee- save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes- Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them- they were the world to me. I saw but them- saw only them for hours- Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition!yet how deep- How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go- they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me- they lead me through the years. They are my ministers- yet I thier slave Thier office is to illumine and enkindle- My duty, to be saved by thier bright light, And purified in thier electric fire, And sanctified in thier Elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), And are far up in heaven- the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day romance poetry edgar-allan-poe Edgar Allen Poe
340892d The Children's Hour Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall! They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all! I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away! poetry love parenting children Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
e889ac2 This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practise As full of labour as a wise man's art For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. poetry viola plays wise William Shakespeare
4906317 Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. nature poetry as-you-like-it plays William Shakespeare
08e39ce John Keats / John Keats / John / Please put your scarf on. poetry more see J.D. Salinger
80f98b8 "I have been happy, though in a dream. I have been happy-and I love the theme: poetry edgar-allan-poe Edgar Allan Poe
c5caef3 Kill what you can't save what you can't eat throw out what you can't throw out bury What you can't bury give away what you can't give away you must carry with you, it is always heavier than you thought. poetry weight Margaret Atwood
070fa4f Reading the very best writers--let us say Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Tolstoy--is not going to make us better citizens. Art is perfectly useless, according to the sublime Oscar Wilde, who was right about everything. He also told us that all bad poetry is sincere. Had I the power to do so, I would command that these words be engraved above every gate at every university, so that each student might ponder the splendor of the insight. reading poetry oscar-wilde Harold Bloom
96ca480 Inebriate of Air -- am I -- And Debauchee of Dew -- Reeling -- thro endless summer days -- From Inns of Molten Blue -- poetry Emily Dickinson
e3e462f "Oh! That was poetry!" said Pippin. "Do you really mean to start before the break of day?" travel humour poetry funny pippin lotr J.R.R. Tolkien
527da42 "I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act. poetry poetry-quotes poet Luke Davies
315fabb Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage. poetry writing Pat Conroy
a9793fc "Between the desire And the spasm, Between the potency And the existence, Between the essence And the descent, Falls the Shadow. This is the way the world ends. from "The Hollow Man" poetry life philosophy despair T.S. Eliot
68e3bd3 "The young must grow old Whilst old ones grow older. And cowards will shrink As the bold grow bolder. Courage may blossom in quiet hearts, For who can tell where bravery starts? Truth is a song, oft lying unsung, Some mother bird protecting her young. Those who lay down their lives for friends, The echo rolls onward, it seldom ends. Who never turned and ran, but stayed? This is a warrior, born, not made. Living in peace, aye many a season, Calm in life and sound in reason, Till evil arrives, a wicked horde Driving the warrior to pick up his sword poetry Brian Jacques The Legend of Luke
c3b8b27 Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here were every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing. poetry Dante Alighieri
10d9885 "I am not a mechanism, an assembly of various sections. and it is not because the mechanism is working wrongly, that I am ill. I am ill because of wounds to the soul, to the deep emotional self, and the wounds to the soul take a long, long time, only time can help and patience, and a certain difficult repentance long difficult repentance, realization of life's mistake, and the freeing oneself poetry D.H. Lawrence
97a5b7e As if this great outburst of anger had purged all my ills, killed all my hopes, I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world- and finding it so much like myself, in fact so fraternal, I realized that I'd been happy, and that I was still happy. For the final consummation and for me to feel less lonely, my last wish was that there should be a crowd of spectators at my execution and that they should greet me with cries of hatred. poetry Albert Camus
dc08baa I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires. - poetry religion William Blake
4fa283f How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring? poetry William Blake
1472c02 With my ninth mind I resurrect my first and dance slow to the music of my soul made new. poetry inspirational-quotes spirituality music modern-authors parapsychology rebirth souls resurrection paranormal psychology Aberjhani
b2bc3ac "Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, "Italy"." poetry Robert Browning
146291c Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels because if he advances another foot the pain of his love will kill him. suicide suffering poem poetry writing love blocks brooklyn artists-life bridge creativity Henry Miller
bd79a20 Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? poetry heart love Sylvia Plath
655a5be As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. words poetry love William Shakespeare
4cf087c Il etait tard; ainsi qu'une medaille neuve La pleine lune s'etalait, Et la solennite de la nuit, comme un fleuve Sur Paris dormant ruisselait. poetry night paris Charles Baudelaire
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