Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

If you never listen, you can't see. The devil has got so many people so disconnected that they cannot even listen or even sense when the Lord is speaking.

If you only knew how many sentences I have withheld in hopes that I will be allowed to speak them into your heart one day.

If you only write when inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you'll never be a novelist.

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. You have to write when you’re not inspired. And you have to write the scenes that don’t inspire you. And the weird thing is that six months later, a year later, you’ll look back at them and you can’t remember which scenes you wrote when you were inspired and which scenes you just wrote because they had to be written next. The process of writing can be magical. …Mostly it’s a process of putting one word after another.

If you put it as 'complex nervous systems' it sounds pretty deflationary. What's so special about a complex nervous system? But of course, that complex nervous system allows you to do calculus. It allows you to do astrophysics… to write poetry... to fall in love. Put under that description, when asked 'What’s so special about humans...?', I’m at a loss to know how to answer that question. If you don’t see why we’d be special… because we can do poetry [and] think philosophical thoughts [and] we can think about the morality of our behavior, I’m not sure what kind of answer could possibly satisfy you at that point. ...I could pose the same kinds of questions of you... So God says, 'You are guys are really, really special.' How does his saying it make us special? 'But you see, he gave us a soul.' How does our having a soul make us special? Whatever answer you give, you could always say… 'What’s so special about that?

If you’re going to love a poet you should know this. Our words are our truths. Our blood hums with verse. We break easily. Our words save us. Our stanzas keep us alive. If we loved you at all, we loved you truly. And you will never leave us but live under our skin and beneath the tips of our fingers and in the ink spill on blank page. Because poetry, like some love, is forever.

If you're anything like me, You bite your nails, And laugh when you're nervous. You promise people the world, because that's what they want from you. You like giving them what they want... But darling, you need to stop, If you're anything like me, You knock on wood every time you make plans. You cross your fingers, hold your breath, Wish on lucky numbers and eyelashes Your superstitions were the lone survivors of the shipwreck. Rest In Peace, to your naive bravado... If life gets too good now, Darling, it scares you. If you're anything like me, You never wanted to lock your door, Your secret garden gate or your diary drawer Didn't want to face the you you don't know anymore For fear she was much better before... But Darling, now you have to. If you're anything like me, There's a justice system in your head For names you'll never speak again, And you make your ruthless rulings. Each new enemy turns to steel They become the bars that confine you, In your own little golden prison cell... But Darling, there is where you meet yourself. If you're anything like me You've grown to hate your pride To love your thighs And no amount of friends at 25 Will fill the empty seats At the lunch tables of your past The teams that picked you last... But Darling, you keep trying. If you're anything like me, You couldn't recognize the face of your love Until they stripped you of your shiny paint Threw your victory flag away And you saw the ones who wanted you anyway... Darling, later on you will thank your stars for that frightful day. If you're anything like me, I'm sorry. But Darling, it's going to be okay.

if you’re going to use the word ‘dream’ in a poem, you had better be langston hughes.

If you're going to force me out, someone else will find their way in. That is key.

If you're frightened of the countless number of books in the library, you'll never write anything, until you close your eyes and hold the pen.

If you're lonely, touch someone. Chances are, you'd end up travelling together.

If you're wandering, pondering, in vain, or astray, surrender to your soul. It only has its arms open for you.

If your teachers suggest that your poems are sentimental, that is only half of it. Your poems probably need to be even more sentimental. Don’t be less of a flower, but could you be more of a stone at the same time?

If you should see/a man/walking down a crowded street/ talking aloud/ to himself don't run/in the opposite direction but run toward him/for he is a poet! You have nothing to fear/from a poet but the truth

If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o’clock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they’ll swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.

If you still have your trigger finger And your punching fists Your township mob justice Your mothers with whistles Your seven-month self-defence course If you remember your second-year Anatomy course Particularly the Stab wound lecture Bring them all. Use them now

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb. (Don't Hesitate)

If you wake with a change of direction, deciding you hate who you've been, Remember, I loved you every yesterday as I will continue to love you then. Whomever person you become I shall worship and whatever path you pave I will follow, Because I loved you every yesterday and I will love you every tomorrow.

If you wake up tired, you’ve been chasing dreams. If you go to bed tired, your making your dreams happen.

If you want to be a poet, there is no greater mistake you could make than to publish whatever work you have as soon as you can. Why? Well because your debut is the only shot you have. It should be made of dynamite. There is nothing worse - believe me - than to have an oeuvre with a mediocre debut, and likely you wont get that far at all, and you will wait for reviews that wont come, just a horrible idea really. I don't need tell this to the rare and extreme talents - they are like a force of nature - but i am talking to the rest of you. People who love their youth don't make it easy on them - making it easy for them is a way to destroy them, But the representatives of my generation have no clue,or idea about Bildung at all, which is why I am at odds with most of them.

If you want to be my Alice, I am in Wonderland.

If you were coming in the Fall, I'd brush the Summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As Housewives do a Fly. If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls — And put them each in separate Drawers, For fear the numbers fuse — If only Centuries, delayed, I'd count them on my Hand, Subtracting, till my fingers dropped Into Van Diemen's land. If certain, when this life was out, That yours and mine should be, I ’d toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity. But, now, uncertain of the length Of this, that is between, It goads me, like the Goblin Bee, That will not state — its sting.

If you wish to know the truth of who you are, follow the voice that calls you home. Go there. For where our love is, there we will be.

If you wish to love, then simply love and if you wish to truly live, then simply live. It is easy to experience true love and share this with someone. Presence is the key to love and to life.

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.

If you write then you are reborn because by writing about the moment, you can relive it for a second time.

I get in where I fit in but it's lonely at the top o where else is there to go? literacy of spirituality, give ear as it flows. Mind is mine and is a 5 star general, complex contrasted from the common in general. I sit in my palace because of the knowledge I have is about the average. Read in between the lines as I hit in between the eyes, open the third one that will give you wings to fly.

If you work by faith and not by sight, you will always see a sign. You have to develop a space of comfort to know that there is a difference between signs and sounds, it means God will tell you that He will make a change in your life but He won't show you anything to demonstrate the change for a little while because He doesn't want your faith to be in the change; He wants your faith to be in the promise, so that when the change is a bit slow in coming, you will know how to trust in Him while you wait for it to come to pass.

I gave her the kind of love that I read in books. I wrote her letters. Took her to parks. Kept photographs of her. Went to late night drives with her under the stars. Fantasy was all I could really give her.

I gave her the world, the moon, the sun, the stars, the planets... I gave her my breath, my voice, my sight, my life... I gave her memories, dreams, happiness... I gave her care and compassion... I gave her everything... and with sickly curved words, venom dripping from her fingers, she whispered in a way that would shatter glass... between her poisonous lips and her barbed teeth, she told me a story of blackness and catastrophe... from her mind a story of corruption and infamy sprang, her first touch an eternal perversion of my vision of life, an absolute seduction from the face of unbearable desire herself... the chills of a dead soul are frosty, a clouded layer of ash fills my insides, specks of dust fill my veins, empty thoughts smother my mind... and in the final steps of our pitifully destructive dance, I will dip you low, caress you so closely, feel the softness of your neck with the skin of my lips and, for that single moment, lost in the promise in your eyes and the intoxicating scent of your taunt body, I saw a sort of perfection that in any other place and light I would only hopelessly attempt to imagine... a horribly curious vividly creative swirl of chaos and flesh eating light, a specter of glow, paint and sound whose first inhalation is the slow quiver of last exhale, my exhale, my final whisper... I only wish I could have done more... but so impossible was it to resist what made her, her...

Igen: élni, míg élünk, Igen: ez a szabály. De mit csináljunk az életünkkel, Ha fáj? Élni, míg élünk

I get a little poetic sometimes. The moonlight does that to me.

I give eulogy to those who are meant to see. You see those who are meant to be by the seeds they sow, growing near the living water, sprouting into a tree. The fruits they reap are sweet like dripping honey, warm to the touch and sweet to the buds of taste.

I give you this to take with you: Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.

Ignorance is a silent crier for education isn't the filling of a pale but a lighting of fire. My apologies if these supreme mathematics seem just a little erratic, it's like the trigga stuck on automatic. The thought put into the chamber and the barrel of mind. It's hidden treasure hidden from within only to those chosen to find. I'm destined to shine; Jesus, Moses and Elijah destined in time.

Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw...

I go near to the shore And the rustling boat smiles I stare up at the moon And the stars shine bright I walk during the sunsets Observing the shades of nature Oh how I wonder Seeing the sunrise painting the sky But I fear that We are losing the art of god For we do not know How to make the world A great place to live in

I Got Kin Plant So that your own heart Will grow. Love So God will think, “Ahhhhhh, I got kin in that body! I should start inviting that soul over For coffee and Rolls.” Sing Because this is a food Our starving world Needs. Laugh Because that is the purest Sound.

I got so strongly addicted to love that I may not be able to breath without it. I fall so fondly in love with poetry that I read it in my dreams often and even unknowingly.

I grew into my hips when I was seventeen years old I learned from my mother She used hers like a boat To bring my father home, Ashore.

I grieve. Yet know the vanity of grief.

I grow weary of the love That lasts for a night When it should be there The next sunrise

I guess I have no choice But to toss all novels under the rug Nothing can compete with the poetry bug

I had embraced you... long before i hugged you.

I had a long time To cry And it took me By surprise That these days I am crying for you

I had a daily bliss I half indifferent viewed, Till sudden I perceived it stir,— It grew as I pursued, Till when, around a crag, It wasted from my sight, Enlarged beyond my utmost scope, I learned its sweetness right.

I had forgotten. Disgust shadows desire. Another life is never safely envied.

I had never met another who loved my mind more than my body. I could feel his curiosity finger-walk through my thoughts... intentional and hard. Absorbing me. Learning me. And as he leaned in and held my hand close to his, I heard my soul sigh... in a deep grateful breath.

I had loved poetry and the theatre. Now I loved adventure more.

I had never thought of haiku, or any kind of poetry for that matter, as a social activity.