Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

What I want you to do for me is this: I want to understand certain things and tell them to others. To do it, I have to get them right, so they are hard to resist. Stay with me until I can do this. Afterwards, you can go where you want.

What is your self-worth? Take a second to ponder. Is it the 100's in my pockets or the virtues and morals? It makes you wonder. Is diamonds what make your heart sound off or the thought of wanting someone to be true? Cause in truth, there's diamonds that abide in you, what a beautiful truth. True to be, let the value of love compare with the love of loyalty. I've learned this passion I once had for the love of money doesn't compare to the love of me. It's like one of them Pretty Ricky songs "Love like honey", yeah that's all me, self-worth value over infinity. I can go on with my ABC rhymes and keep stimulating your mind, make you see things with your eyes closed as if I'm leading the blind. This conscience cannot be bought with money or gold but my character and values last way past old. Put me deep in the dirt, the soils where I lay, sprout flowers of life, my soul lives on everyday. I have a question to ask, you might be as curious to hear: When's the last time you saw a Wells Fargo truck following a hearse? Don't let them try to trick you, once you're gone, your money can't be reimbursed. So the question is what lasts forever? If diamonds, money, even our flesh which is considered of such high importance soon perishes, what lasts forever? Give ear if you hear my words.

What kind of emotion do you think is this which deserves tears but your eyes think the opositte...

What I want to know is how you go on when you look around and don’t see anywhere you want to go without the only person you can’t have.

What is your motive when you go to church? To feed or to be fed? To serve or to be served? To worship or to be worshipped? To praise or to be praised? To teach or to learn? To give or to receive? Remember the woman with the issue of blood did not met Jesus in the church. Blind barthimus was blind though he could hear did not see Jesus but heard about Jesus passing; I am just wondering how many people have heard about Jesus through you? Who was this man interested in? Your answer might be Jesus of course but definitely not. The man loves himself and so was seeking healing even when the crowd could not allow him see Jesus. Let the crowd in the church not deceive you because God usually speak to one. (A bit deep).

What man is able to do that, that thou should ask such things of me?

What Love Are You That Causes Sorrow? Love is joy; It is not supposed to hurt; Then why pain Is part of it? Love is delight; It is not supposed to harm; Then why hate Is part of it? What joy are you That causes pain? What delight are you That causes hate? What love are you That causes sorrow?

What melody will our rivers remember if songbirds forget how to sing?

What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

What perishes is only really real. I twist the dial and you are everywhere.

What's a rainy day without some delicious coffee-flavoured loneliness?

What song, what home, what calm or one clarity can I not quite come to, never quite see: this field, this sky, this tree.

What's Love, if not this folly of a wider space, taking us to an innermost Love.

What starts in the heart doesn't stay in the heart, it either turn into action or words.

What stains your heart for so sad morrows,if still Life in you is stringing Music's undulating waves to heighten your skylark flight.

What's meant to be is set; High priesthood is the philosophers stone turning all your worthless metals into golden thrones. God & I do it alone; complete opposition of the human hive of these drones for they're prone to do as they're told. Threaten them with fictitious statues, watch em fall and they fold. It's winter blizzard year-round for this dictatorship is heartless and cold. Where is there to turn to when there's no where to go? Can't tell the difference between friendly and foe.

What’s there to find in a broken heart if not assembled pieces of love for a pristine start What’s there to see behind the curtain only things that you don’t know for certain

What’s the use of writing poetry for your peers? I don’t think I should sell my poetry to other poets. If that’s who my audience is, I’m dead, I’m not going to make any money.

What's worse To never have them To have them only in part What's worse To be endlessly waiting To be endlessly waiting What's worse—nothing or nothing What's worse

What to do then, when the only history you have is collage?

What was it that was never finished, neither changed nor fulfilled?

What the poet has to say to the torso of the supposed Apollo, however, is more than a note on an excursion to the antiquities collection. The author's point is not that the thing depicts an extinct god who might be of interest to the humanistically educated, but that the god in the stone constitutes a thing-construct that is still on air. We are dealing with a document of how newer message ontology outgrew traditional theologies. Here, being itself is understood as having more power to speak and transmit, and more potent authority, than God, the ruling idol of religions. In modern times, even a God can find himself among the pretty figures that no longer mean anything to us - assuming they do not become openly irksome. The thing filled with being, however, does not cease to speak to us when its moment has come.

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.

What was the name of that editor of Janata? 1961: On the front page, he wrote: “Won’t last, won’t last!” Him? Maybe he is called Mogambo. Then 1962, 1963, 1964, 1965, 1966 Who was that short man, wrote in the daily literary supplement “That? How long will that last? Won’t last.” What was his name? That man, at the Esplanade book stall Can’t remember? Where did he go, that man? In a famous little magazine he wrote— Him? Maybe he is called Dr Dang Then 1967, 1968, 1969, 1970, 1971, 1972 Can’t recall? Thick glasses, a swift stride— Him? Maybe he is called Gabbar Singh Why can’t you remember the names their fathers gave them? Forgotten in just 50 years? Where did they go? And that fellow who wore loose trousers and a bush shirt And wrote so many times: “Won’t last, won’t last.” Then 1973, 1974, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979, 1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014 What? Can’t remember yet? What a strange fellow you are! So many writers, editors, poets repeatedly Wrote: “Won’t last, won’t last, won’t last too long People will forget soon.” And yet you struggle To recall their names? Then let it be! Let Mogambo, Dr Dang and Gabbar Singh Be their names in the history of Bengalis.

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

What we call life is only talk of nature.

What we have now, shall never be again. The poets of the past sit in amazement of the wanna-be's of an era long gone.

What will he then do unto his name whereby we are called? ...of these things have I asked.

What wonder will I accomplish today? And how will it tie in to tomorrow and tomorrow, so that I may live as the hero I want to be? And today how will I seek and find the opportunity that scares me? An opportunity that has me harness some elements within that I may cross over the bridge into the other side of my existence; the one that’s begging to be unsettled, that greets the morning before the sun with a ferocious will to rise up, to inspire, to create laughter and tears from the uncovering of the magical self and the relief that I have given in to the excitingly scary, omega point pull to evolve.

What you cannot lay to rest Must therefore be laid aside From the poem "Moors Child" published in the poetry collection "Cats and Other Myths

What will you do now with the gift of your left life?

What would your shoes say about the things you do everyday?

what you and I have a receiver would never receive even if their soul is a fee to purchase what we feel

What you are trying to let go of ...is already gone.

What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

When admiring other people's gardens, don't forget to tend to your own flowers.

What you see and what you listen to will determine how high you will go.

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

When a group of people get up from a table, the table doesn’t know which way any of them will go.

When all the dread agonies move abroad, silently and peacefully spring arrives with her blowing smiles from the blooming lips of flowers far and near,lushly the sour cherries blossom, the wind whispers and waves.

☺☺ When a man gets to 99, he starts to think, he may only have another 10 years of sexy lovemaking left... Still Smiling At 99. ☺☺

When am mad, I cry when am mad, I scream, When am mad, I want to be left alone when am mad, I sleep When am mad, I take a long walk When am mad, I write to express how I feel when am mad, i draw picture to describe my mood, when am mad, i slam doors

When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do?

When an immigrant speaks of feeling uncomfortable just know, you are in the presence of man who knows what the sting of assimilation is.

When Darkness surrounds you, look for the stars. When Jealousy whispers, kill it with laughter. When Hate hurts you, love with all your strength.

When Beauty evokes an ethereal, colourful art,as it paints a material or a body,to render an Earthly wish,as its mesmerizing shapes give a fanciful glow for the smile lost Poetic hearts,ah! yet wonder,how we wander high!

When did we revert back to sticks and shields, Uniform uniforms, stylized agenda reveals, Hiding behind glass with nods to our reflection, Blocking out the light that sparked the deception? Who do we see staring across the isle, A path once for feet now stretched into miles, Removed from our view to a place unseen, Forcing poisonous venom through a flickering screen? Where should we gather outside of the homes, But a place for the masses to manifest from their phones, The hatred and evil broadcasting the waves, Telling you daily, “Elvis lives and Jesus saves”? What could restart a flawed mental state, Built on cause and guilt for an unfulfilled faith In policy, redemption, a nation self aware, Our values compressed and trapped in despair? How can we rise with the odds in their favor, Sedated once more, still waiting for a Savior Willing to spare from thoughts profound? Stand tall, my friends, when the fool comes around.

When dreams meet memories it's a promise.

Whenever I write a dramatic poem I can't understand why the characters should ever want to be anything but poets themselves.

Whenever life is getting tough hold on. Don't let it get the best of you stay strong.