Best 8 184 of Poetry quotes - MyQuotes
One of the great criticisms of poets of the past is that they said one thing and did another.
You were wrong," he murmured ruefully, resting his cheek on top of Amy’s head. "You weren’t safe with me." "I feel like Psyche kissing Cupid in the dark," Amy said dreamily. Richard drew Amy’s arms around his back under his cloak. "Feel. No wings." Amy could hear the smile in the Gentian’s voice. "Does that mean if I unmask you, you won’t fly away?" Richard tightened his grip on Amy’s arms. "Don’t even consider it." "You could give me three trials, like Psyche." "With what as the prize at the end? Me, or membership in the League?" Amy managed the difficult feat of looking at him askance with her nose only inches from his. "It would be much easier for me to answer that question if I knew who you were." "What’s in a name? A Gentian by any other name would—" "Be an entirely different flower," interjected Amy, swatting him on the arm. "I refuse to be fobbed off with poor imitations of Shakespeare." "If you don’t like Romeo and Juliet, how about a sonnet?" Richard suggested. "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art—" "Not that easily deterred." Amy extricated herself from Richard’s arms – and his cloak, which had tangled around her knees – and hopped off the window seat. "Damnation," muttered Richard. "I’ll ignore that,"offered Amy generously. "And we can go straight to the crucial question of how I’m going to help you restore the monarchy
Saat kehilangannya, hanya ada dua pilihan untuk membuat hatimu kembali bernyawa. Pertama, kau bisa memilih kembali mencinta dan berhak hidup bahagia. Segera melupakan dia yang tak mungkin bersamamu saat tua. Kedua, kau perlu benar-benar beristirahat untuk menyembuhkan segala luka. Menolak segala cinta untuk memperbaiki diri menjadi lebih bijaksana. Hanya dua pilihan, alasan mengapa pada akhirnya kau cepat memiliki pasangan, atau bertahan dalam kesendirian.
I hear you whispering, "Will she come?
I like to imagine That when we look upon A pitch black night’s sky And ignorantly label it colorless Is it actually filled with all the colors We could never even imagine.
when i speak to you i speak as though i am offering a rose in your hand.
Infectious smile has infected tears The laughter strikes with spears I am not dear and they are not sincere Feeling fear I must perform For when I stop the stage is gone
Jose R. Coronado
It's a lust for some trust we never attain. 95% of people don't know what they want out of life so ignorance is the price they'll always retain. 4% 'think' they know what to obtain and that 1% know exactly what they want out of life and take control of their domain.
Do you want to come in? Take a deep breath. Everything is about to happen.
But what if I don't like anything as much as I pretend to
Return, while night clatters and mirrors open and everything tears inside because of your absence. Everything wants to get on with the wind, the sky. To register a terrible gesture, some way of being without you, an impossible.
Memory near oblivion. Far death
The future belongs to all who, refusing to look back at the past move ahead with the clock as it ticks.
The beautiful thing about young love is the truth in our hearts that it will last forever.
No one else was as close and as open, No one else so boiled my blood, Even he, who consigned me to torment, Even he, who caressed and forgot.
How do I forget all this hurt and pain in the past? How do I forget the last year that has passed? How do I know that everything will be alright? Is there a light at the end of this tunnel, so bright? Will everything work out in the end? Will I ever be able to love again? Will this feeling and regret and guilt wilt? How long will it take for my heart to heal?
Sometimes it feels like even if Every inch of my skin was touching yours I still wouldn’t be close enough to you.
Our songs live longer than our kingdoms.
If my life were a fragrance, it would smell like the sea.
First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence such beauty and what the meaning; such an oracular fever! flowing past windows, an energy it seemed would never ebb, never settle less than lovely! and only now, deep into night, it has finally ended. The silence is immense, and the heavens still hold a million candles; nowhere the familiar things: stars, the moon, the darkness we expect and nightly turn from. Trees glitter like castles of ribbons, the broad fields smolder with light, a passing creekbed lies heaped with shining hills; and though the questions that have assailed us all day remain—not a single answer has been found— walking out now into the silence and the light under the trees, and through the fields, feels like one.
She is wild love and eternal fire - A sensual blend of soft heart and burning desire. Yes, an acquired taste, but the truth is once you fall in love with her, you'll never recover. Her love will seep into your veins, you'll never be the same.
You must take these poems as mirrors; for you know that the mirror has no form of itself, but rather reflects the face of anyone who looks in it. Just so a poem has no one particular meaning of itself , but presents to each reader his state of the moment and the completeness of his case
Edgar Allan Poe
It is a happiness to wonder;—it is a happiness to dream
How rarely these few years, as work keeps up aloof, Or fares, or one thing or another, How we had days to spend under our parents' roof; Myself, my sister, and my brother. All five of us will die; to reckon from the past This flesh and blood is unforgiving. What's hard is that just one of us will be the last To bear it all and go on living.
Failures of nerve and energy are not permitted. That's what it means to be an object.
Midway between the too soiled ground and the too-sublime vaults, at the level of the air, entering the skin of the role, poetry plays its game.
I wonder at the starry pattern in the sky Are they little pieces of moon which want to fly..?
Tulpės Raudonos, margos, gelsvos, baltos Pražydo tulpės visos kartu, - Vėliavos iš žolių iškeltos Raudonos, margos, gelsvos, baltos... Kad nebegrįžtų naktys šaltos Ir pievų kruša neužbertų, - Raudonos, margos, gelsvos, baltos Pražydo tulpės visos kartu.
Far away soul in a dreamy state Forgotten slumber seemingly late Pure rhythmic love now rising higher Unclad passion our only attire
The universe is God's son.
Come, said my Soul Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,) That should I after death invisibly return, Or, long, long hence, in other spheres, There to some group of mates the chants resuming, (Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,) Ever with pleas’d smiles I may keep on, Ever and ever yet the verses owning — as, first, I here and now, Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name, WALT WHITMAN
I think i should get love inked on my skin. Maybe that's the only way i am destined to keep it.
Poetry is a will to put things right, an imaginary solution, a way of avoiding a catastrophe that already happened. Poetry is an escape, perhaps intelligent, perhaps idiotic, from a senile situation. It is a dialectical movement, it keeps tearing open the wounds while trying to heal them. Here we see the only acceptable path open up towards an existence worthy of human beings. Here the seriousness is unfaltering and absolute. Where it will lead no one knows.
A few drinks and the world was hers— she wore her whiskey like a loaded gun.
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously three old owls on a chest of drawers were screwing the daughter of the doctor. But then the mother called them, colorless green ideas slepp furiously.
sometimes even the worst dreams are better than this reality
Gotta get a tight grip, don't slip, loose lips, sank ships, it's a trip, I love the way she licks her lips.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Do you remember…(doesn’t that appear in each of my letters?), do you remember that you spoke of how eagerly you experienced that period when for the first time autumn and winter were to meet you not in the city, but among the trees whose happiness you knew, whose spring and summer rang in your earliest memories and were mingled with everything warm and dear and tender and with the infinitely blissful melancholies of summer evenings and of long, yearning nights of spring. You knew just as much of them as of the dear people in your surroundings, among whom also summer and spring, kindness and happiness were dedicated to you and whose influence held sway above your growing up and maturing, and whose other experiences would touch you only by report and rarely like a shot in the wood of which superstitious folk tell for a long time. But now you were to remain out in the country house that was growing lonely and were to see the beloved trees suffer in the rising wind, and were to see how the dense park is torn apart before the windows and becomes spacious and everywhere, even in very deep places, discloses the sky which, with infinite weariness, lets itself rain and strikes with heavy drops on the aging leaves that are dying in touching humility. And you were to see suffering where until now was only rapture and anticipation, and were to learn to endure dying in the very place where the heart of life had beaten most loudly upon yours. And you were to behave like the grownups who all at once may know everything, yes, who become grown up just because of the fact that even the darkest and saddest things do not have to be hidden from them, that one does not cover up the dead when they enter, nor hide those whose faces are sawed and torn by a sharp pain.” ―from letter to Clara Westhoff Schmargendorf (Sunday, November 18, 1900)
and when we spoke / we spoke / the sounds of our voices fell / into the air single and / solid and rounded and really / there / and then dulled, and then like sounds / gone, a fistful of gathered / pebbles there was no point / in taking home, dropped on a beachful / of other coloured pebbles
I love you every day -for the code and the blush and the shrug of it. Make your mind up in me, and I will do the same.
How does a person exist after their world has been torn to pieces? It must be possible. People do it all the time. After all the floods and tornadoes and wars that have hit the world with inexorable violence, people somehow scrape up their lives and begin again.
Wafting hypnotic love through the air You see what we unravel, what is wasted In our house of severed horns, We have only our own stardust to fear
Venus Transiens Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves, Drifting shoreward On her plaited shell? Was Botticelli’s vision Fairer than mine; And were the painted rosebuds He tossed his lady Of better worth Than the words I blow about you To cover your too great loveliness As with a gauze Of misted silver? For me, You stand poised In the blue and buoyant air, Cinctured by bright winds, Treading the sunlight. And the waves which precede you Ripple and stir The sands at my feet.
We are each what never leaves us, what we never see the back of is the self. But what loves us is at the back, as Eurydice was escorting him out without his knowing.
Sereda Aleta Dailey
Whenever a time arises where clarity is desired, it is always wise to reflect on the sage within.
I find it incredibly amazing how at every sunset, the sky is a different shade. No cloud is ever in the same place. Each day is a new masterpiece. A new wonder. A new memory.
The taste of moon's song.
To wander solitary there: Two paradises ‘twere in one To live in paradise alone.
I believe that if I should die, and you were to walk near my grave, from the very depths of the earth I would hear your footsteps.
Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude And fled to the silence of sweet solitude.