Best 115 quotes of Nithin Purple on MyQuotes

A Beauty can count myriad gifts by Nature, as well as fear.

A Bitter tasty man always has less followers;but alas! improves since his peeping audience were then Bitter enough to bite.

A calm respite below the emerald tinged trees shade, my dream beaded one, another, afeared;ha fear—that self howl; not yet rise in me though the tranquil quill guided me through the forest sigh.

A drop of darkness above me hung,within me ruined Rome,within me demolished Rome, where those lands my dream would well travel, before that I want to die without blame,so let me see ten thousand moons to Dream.

A Dusky bee as I spare lonely sites,solely across nature's dim given strife,I, a mused traveler that my life hails,from a warm curious, and mirthful form,yon world I gazed in all my vigils.

Ah! listen the song of storm from my disturbed soul;and it scatters flower buds into its lonely halls;like every pain needs a dirge,with wreaths that awful the world framed one for me,and gives the time it calls.

Ah! stir well your fancy, fear not to tell me those deep heart secrets now,look the sun goes down the high hills and by the tree shades we sat,in adored pose;along side the lake we sat,kissed by the winds nigh.

Ah thrills of my soul is not yet perished,for a flame aglow its spirit of thoughts,and my words will garland the most admired beauty of both seen and the unseen hearts.

A lot of changes make man alive,to believe the past,present and foresee the Future.

A lot of changes make man alive,to believe the past,present and to foresee the Future.

Always a frail mind,to Live,I must act this inevitable play of life:'The LIving Death',the deranging and perplexing dreams are in it! Ah!let me not exit the World's STAGE, in silence, leaving the Nature's serene music, my Muse and the Beauty of MANY Imaginary dreams.

Always a frail mind,to Live,I must act this inevitable play of life:'The LIving Death',the deranging and perplexing scenes are in it! Ah!let me not exit the World's STAGE, in silence, leaving the Nature's serene music, my Muse and the Beauty of MANY Imaginary dreams.

Amor—God of love,imbued with your consort,Psyche and took me to a panoptical world of opinions,and it was in a night of extravagant freedom,where I could not feel it was a dream in a primordial domain.I sensed as if I was with my darling soul,to whom I had aught of secrets to hide to launch a milky thought in the tapestries alike inner self.

An Artist has his Imagination never dies,but it Grows you a Mystery, about its True Origin.

An Author is forced by his Life's misery,to Live or Die in his Dreams,for every sad verse he writes,by breaking his Heart's Melodious strings, in need of sympathy.

And efforts are painstaking always,since you are into this mystical universe to practice a technique,every learning is a slow process, gradually you will master it by time and if you are able to grasp things more quickly in a limited spell, as your experience is advancing, you are almost nearing to be a maestro.Our world doesn't need incompetence anymore, but needs high skills or talents to do the job done quickly with desire and ambition.

And he has a Poet,but you are unlucky to hear that Pensive song.

A pen ahead the thought is a Beauty above the thorn.

Artists so far have a furnace like pain,hidden in their inner core and exploding them in a sudden tempo of Time.

Art lets man awake,so an Artist becomes an entertainer.

Art sincerely obeys a mind,who is willing to tame a Wild Stone to mould a desired Shape.

Behold the world,where I stoop to dwell in, where no chasms that safe my varying dim views,but has the e'er longing for nature's inn, silent her breeze,that lulls my tiresome eyes.

Being a poetic heart is more like a throbbing self, a pretty melancholic wave inward tides,for many a time I begged the living world's mercy and how many times you fade my dreams at every day break.

Being wed with contradiction,an Artist no longer wants Other Opinions,because,its ye made him a MAN,an Independent Striver

Charming the Freedom,eternal freedom,to express my naked thoughts,the gloom of dissatisfaction,the yearning bliss! and its Poesy's dazzling dance.

Clear the blue skies aery dome,rosy the sun’s cheek,he clouds unfastened sway,the smiling gush of creek,the tiny fishes awake from sleep, the unseen moves of the dryad,ha spirit in me driven!

Cynthia then holiness spread in arctic dews, from lately month that it pinion'd the living world,there did swell the mild and greenish meadows,winter anew its frozen gold of treasury wild.

Derestricted Liberty is such like sitting far,on the blissful wings of solitude,below the crystal clear,infinite skies,full of musing feels with myriad of visions could satiate now.

Despondency slightly dies when hopeful Autumn arrives,and latest wings of soft breeze,starts to fledge,to aplomb the soulful life and gardens to lush with fruits as oft.

Draft me brain;the lines to connect far world of wonders;lift me waves from the gloomy hours to imbue with my new Love.

Everybody has their different story selected, so you can find a new too.

Every dusk had the compassion for my fruitless traveler, to not to fail until i grab the dawn's dewy flower! a little joy i found now is like warming my heart in that relief fire.

Every second from Life,is an experimental trip,that teaches the physics of our sadness or happiness, leaving a tempest blow.

For me,I got rebirth through a direful- mystical accident,the accident was my ‘life’ self.My curiosity never ceased throughout my travel.I sold myself for imaginations.I swam with my pallid imaginations whenever I troubled in life.

From the Wild West, I heard the thundering voice of Bacchus’, winy prophesies,yet disillusioned in his self aching brains, that rattled his evil enemies.

Full of deep insight,the nature gives me to write boldly without the temptation,that lurks behind the draperies of fame,and pause not I with wings of perception.

Ha! no more dirges for the dead summer—and here,the shrills of that unpleasant months over, and new leaves start to shiver;as the winter smiled in her foggy bath!

His weary life gave him a crown of thorns, for he must abide its strangeness through the heavy hours, as of fear and dismay—a nip of bitter-sour ache,gives him a secret revival, by the lute he has!

How stormy this mind too,violent the inner- throbs similar,in an immeasurable count,like the high surging waves,one after another.youth—my desolated form destined to lament?

I bounce to Creativity by selling myself for Imagination.

If ‘beauty’ be the self-satisfied pride she bears,each fly does wing around her cherubic sweet face,as they; lovers seek what her anonymous covers,and dream them in a transient trace.

If it gleams,the wakeful spirit, which the purest in mine own fill of ecstasy, daring to swell tho' be the waning night,whose fading,blast find anew a song the very latest from my quill.

If I were a bird,I could wish a flight unrestrained, and without bothering my sadness.

If success has thousand painful tales to tell, why would I yield to hear you say failure.

If you are happily married for what you have highly devoured from your beloved wife,is however legal,the world clasps respectfully, without any means to disapprove,though jealous and you too had given your wife an Heavenly drink,many a time with her mind's consent in order to fill what 'Eternal Sexual Divinity' is all about.

I longed to get level with the Bell Ringing Woman’s height of thoughts,yet I couldn’t comprehend her knowledge,and her extended views or her Ideas,which were like a kernel inside the universe fruit.

In me,poetry is music;which elevates high to the sweetest level of an ecstasy,as thus it has the trembling heart’s symphonic tunes,while a state, I forget self and melt in poesy.

Its my sweet-lipped Passion:Art that drives me up to invent new smiles of Beauty,my wings are torn,and still it flies in search of Beauty.

Its you itself your Saint, when you are High.

Laugh as much as you can,mad as much as you can,though it must be tough tight to Life,with a dream you have of silvery moon-lit tomorrow.