Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

O how we call each other names You call me schizophrenic I call you God But we do agree on one Deluded are we both.

Oh phosphorescence. Now there’s a word to lift your hat to... To find that phosphorescence, that light within — is the genius behind poetry.

Oh that's right Keep away from me Please give me a push Don't let me understand you Don't realise me Or we might tumble together Depersonalized Identical Into the terrific Nirvana Me you --- you --- me

Oh, there are unrepeated words, Who ever said wasted more than he should. Inexhaustible only is the blue Of sky and generosity of God.

oikeastaan olisin vain halunnut kietoutua hänen ympärilleen, kuin rakkolevä hänen ympärilleen

O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one.

Oh, we were so wrong for each other, but the things we did to each other felt so right.

Oi elämäni, toivoton sammumaton. Miten kadehdin tuulen tuivertamia soihtuja yössä.

O jornalista é um poeta delicado: sempre acha o rascunho mais sincero do que o publicado.

Oh, there are no living poets, Miss Van Damn. We're not entirely sure there ever were. They've found some shreds of sonnets in England and, embedded in a chalk wall of a cave in France, some yet undetermined thing which might be the legendary inward eye. But all evidence, such as it is, suggests that, if there ever were poets, they were all burned into extinction during the interglacial period of despair.

O I never thought that joys would run away from boys, Or that boys would change their minds and forsake such summer joys; But alack I never dreamed that the world had other toys

Oh The way you broke her heart And shattered her life With your empty promises And biggest lies The trust is gone and The hope is lost for ever The feeling of emptiness And the pain of being alone Never leaves her heart She is living a life Of heartache and despair For you broke her heart And shattered her life

Oh, this was a cold day In Peter's wonderful town! The shadow grew dense, and the sundown Like purple fire lay. Let him not want my eyes fair Prophetic and never-changing All life long verse he'll be catching - My conceited lips' empty prayer.

Oh, waters - do not cover me! I would look long and long at those beautiful stars! Oh my wings - lift me - lift me I am not so dreadfully hurt...

...O if we but knew what to do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender,

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. There should be stars for great wars like ours.

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

Old friend, I am writing to you again The infamous tale of squandered love To have my denial broken by myself To have accepted past for my behove To have grown into a man of honor To have embraced the code of chivalry To have been reborn as a bird of myth To have caught lies in nightly reverie Lost myself in this chronic transition I regret the love wasted, in-between Who knew life can just be happy or full If only the great men ere had foreseen As humbled as I have become due this I’m failing to see the point of these rhymes So old friend, do tell me what is better Death, endured once or a zillion times?

Old McDonald had a restaurant, E, I, E, I, O, And in that restaurant was some beef, E, I, E, I, O, With a moo moo here, And a moo moo there. Here a moo, there a moo, Everywhere a moo moo cholesterol filled death trap burger.

O Lord that bear rule, even we all are full of impiety. And for our sakes peradventure it is that the floors of the righteous are not filled, because of the sins of them that dwell upon the earth.

O Love! Whore of a devil When would you find me?

O lead me onward to the loneliest shade, The darkest place that quiet ever made, Where kingcups grow most beauteous to behold And shut up green and open into gold.

O Megh (Rain) let the raindrops fall...

Old soul. Poet's heart. Warriors mind.

O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d; Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me; Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined; The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT'S CALLED "POETRY" - YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING'S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~

Old situations will emerge just to test you. Don’t go backwards. Don’t do it. Move forwards. Stay moving. Stay true to you

O love, how did you get here? --Nick and the Candlestick

O Lord that bear rule, who may know these things, but he that had not his dwelling with men?

O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude...

O May my Song arise like Morning day, And bid me look upon the break of light.

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

. . . On a sandbar sunlight stretches out its limbs, or is it a sycamore, so brazen, so clean and bold?

On a trip to Paris one day, little Sophie Met a giant lady lighting up the night sky "What's your name, you magical monster?" "My many visitors call me the Eiffel Tower." "In all your attire, don't your sometimes tire Of being seen only as a humdrum tower? You, a dragon, a fairy watching over Paris, An Olympic torch held aloft in grey skies?" "How you flatter me! So few poets these days Ever sing the praises of my Parisian soul, As did Cocteau, Aragon, Cendrars, Trénet and Apollinaire... Since you're so good At seeing beneath the surface, you could -If you like, when you're back from France- Take up your pen and write down Why you like me -it would be nice and fun!" "You can count on me! There's so much to say! I'll write twenty lines... but who will read them?" "Well, I know a man who'll read your verse." "Really? Who?" "The President of France

On a small table beside his chair were other haphazardly stacked volumes by such poets as Emerson, Whitman, and Wallace Stevens, a dangerous crew to let into your head.

Once in a while i am struck all over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enough to bruise a heart.

Once spun, The silken thread of all our aspirations Remains intact, It can never be broken.

Once, a Whimsical poet died of despair after finding himself unequal to the task of capturing a fair one's beauty in simile. I think it more likely he died of arsenic poisoning, but so the story goes.

Once I dated a woman I only liked 43%. So I only listened to 43% of what she said. Only told the truth 43% of the time. And only kissed with 43% of my lips. Some say you can't quantify desire, attaching a number to passion isn't right, that the human heart doesn't work like that. But for me it does-I walk down the street and numbers appear on the foreheads of the people I look at. In bars, it's worse. With each drink, the numbers go up until every woman in the joint has a blurry eighty something above her eyebrows, and the next day I can only remember 17% of what actually happened. That's the problem with booze-it screws with your math.

Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought Never to wake thy silent strings again, A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought, And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, Into the poet's Heaven, and leaves dull grief below

once ruffle-skirted vanity table where I primped at thirteen, opening drawers to a private chaos of eyeshadows lavender teal sky-blue, swarms of hair pins pony tail fasteners, stashes of powders, colonies of tiny lipsticks (p.39)

Once, my child asked, “Why did God create man?” I said, “It’s like the tree in open land. It’s so glad its fruits couldn’t be sweeter, but they’ve no meaning if no partakers.” Likewise, God’s home, with joy it’s much laden, how sad if it is just for the heaven. As with no sharers, tree’s fruits have no sense, without man, God as God has no essence.

Once in a while you come across someone who will make your life special again.

Once taken by her, you glowed And you drank her poisons, content. Because all the stars seemed to grow, And fields had a different scent, Autumn fields.

Once upon a time She tried so hard to fix him And in the moment he was fixed He simply left She blossomed in the dirty pond And still is a beautiful flower She was drown Trying to teach him how to swim

Once upon a time ago, you loved me in Photoshop. When I was monochromatic, you gave me texture. You went through my layer mask and hit......'Reveal All'. I remember when you stared at me like I was saturated; but, sometimes I don't remember that once upon a time ago without seeing your background image losing its magic lens.

Once There was a quiet island, With a name. You must believe me When I say that sunlight, Impure but beautiful, Broke upon the bay, silvered The unrepentant, burning moon.

Once upon a time I fell in love Lost myself And find another one.

Once upon a time, son, they used to laugh with their hearts and laugh with their eyes; but now they only laugh with their teeth, while their ice-block-cold eyes search behind my shadow. There was a time indeed they used to shake hands with their hearts; but that’s gone, son. Now they shake hands without hearts while their left hands search my empty pockets.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.