Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

Failing and Flying" Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It's the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly. Like being there by that summer ocean on the other side of the island while love was fading out of her, the stars burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last. Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist. Each afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming, the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that. Listened to her while we ate lunch. How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was pretty but the food was greasy. I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Facts produce structures, objects are lyrical realities.

Failure is the new success.

Failures of nerve and energy are not permitted. That's what it means to be an object.

Faith allows your soul to break free and travel to places your envious mind rarely grants it permission to visit.

Faith for those few that are chosen even though many are called. Elohim meant it for everybody to enter but they dare not walk through the narrow difficulty, so they give into lifes delicacies that can't fulfill and leads to misery and slavery.

Faith in the goodness of life is the poet's faith.

Faith has answers that the ears can't always hear.

Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.

Faith is the poetry of our dreams; action is the builder of our reality.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.

Fall in love with yourself because the one you've been searching for so desperately is you.

Fall in love with the energy of the mornings trace your fingers along the lull of the afternoons take the spirit of the evenings in your arms kiss it deeply and then make love to the tranquility of the nights.

Falling in love was easy-when romantic attraction was combined with hungry, unsated desire, they formed a glamorous, glittering bauble as fragile as it was alluring, a bauble that could shatter as soon as it was grasped. Tenderness was a different story. It had staying power and the promise of a future.

Falling in love with you was out of my control, but I do have a say in what happens next. And, I will choose to stay in love with you through everything this life throws at us.

False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu! Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy

Fascists always attack minorities, Which is an irony, 'Cos fascists are a minority.

Far away soul in a dreamy state Forgotten slumber seemingly late Pure rhythmic love now rising higher Unclad passion our only attire

Father God, I cannot deny the obvious, You & I are one. What you have, I have. You are like air to my lungs, grass to my ground, stars to my moon & water to my fish. You are my spiritual, eternal Father. Always be with me and guide me. Help me to be a man of spirituality and less fleshly. Be my guide like that shadow following the sun as the earth rotates, never abandoning its guiding direction.

Favoritism is but made by God; in all creatures, He built it in their blood, like a cow suckling only her own calves, the crowd cheering the team of their own club. Hence, if you'll be faced with a dilemma: "Save your child or the child of some fella," don't you defy what God dictates is right, lest you be haunted in your deepest night!

Favole. Io gioco di favole. Gioco di favole per sempre E Sacra mento, con corone di spine e scettri serpenti. In un mondo incantato, gioco di favole e non piango. Fa' che i nostri corpi stritolino la tristezza una volta per tutte. E ora è così dolce, ora. Così freddo.

Fate is a cruelly sweet fruit.

Fate is the cruelest of masters, taking Life when it pleases or at random, handing Rigged decks to whom it pleases, cheating All alike and none the wiser, taking Everything away from those with nothing.

Fate is unkind when your dreams only exist within the confines of a classic Disney rhyme.

Fear makes you believe that you’re safer in the confines of your own mind instead of the comfort of another’s arms. When the truth is Your mind can be more of a battlefield than the world outside and you’re going to need to let people into survive.

FEELINGS ON WATCHING THE MOON The times are hard: a year of famine has emptied the fields, My brothers live abroad- scattered west and east. Now fields and gardens are scarcely seen after the fighting, Family members wander, scattered on the road. Attached to shadows, like geese ten thousand li apart, Or roots uplifted into September's autumn air. We look together at the bright moon, and then the tears should fall, This night, our wish for home can make five places one.

Feelings and emotion ran through my veins like a hurricane. And that's when everything began to look like poetry. —You look like poetry

Feel" Hello everyone, how are y’all doing Y’all seem busy Don’t mean to disturb you, is it me or y’all look dizzy Can you hear the ocean screaming, can you see the wind in your hair I know it all seems scattered here and there Do I sound odd to you, Do you already have a name for me Where do I belong to, How hard is it for everyone to agree Can anyone hear me I see all of your vague faces Coming from all different places Unconsciously robbed of own your rights, I wish I could make you all feel despite of all your races Touch the ground, grab a stone and y’all know you’re not alone Have a mind of your own Time ticks on Each hour closer the death Love, feel what are you waiting upon Don’t waste one breath.

Fetch him breakfast. Fetch him coffee. Fetch his sheets for his bed. Fetch him lunch. Fetch his drink. Fetch the ax to cut his head. Fetch him dinner. Fetch him tea. Fetch the mop but watch him bleed.

festive hearts wane and sink like tides of joy.

Fiction: Because real life just isn’t that much fun sometimes.

Feminity for me was discovering you when I took you for a ride on my motorcycle Charming for me was talking to you when you would call me and I would call you and we would talk till 3:00 am in the morning Love for me is you when I get blazingly angry almost raging like a mad bull and you calm me down with your patience and grace!

Fiction and poetry are doses, medicines. What they heal is the rupture reality makes on the imagination.

fiended; fell for another

Final Disposition Others divided closets full of mother's things. From the earth, I took her poppies. I wanted those fandango folds of red and black chiffon she doted on, loving the wild and Moorish music of them, coating her tongue with the thin skin of their crimson petals. Snapping her fingers, flamenco dancer, she'd mock the clack of castanets in answer to their gypsy cadence. She would crouch toward the flounce of flowers, twirl, stamp her foot, then kick it out as if to lift the ruffles, scarlet along the hemline of her yard. And so, I dug up, soil and all, the thistle-toothed and gray-green clumps of leaves, the testicle seedpods and hairy stems both out of season, to transplant them in my less-exotic garden. There, they bloom her blood's abandon, year after year, roots holding, their poppy heads nodding a carefree, opium-ecstatic, possibly forever sleep.

fierce lovers. and battle warriors both come from the same place. there is bound to be, some bloodshed.

Find me beneath your tongue, but not with other lips nor by another tongue Find me let your yearning run wild as thirst seeks water as silence seeks the sound Find me and I will be on my way...

Find me, as time is a luxury For I wait, under this naïve moon

Fireflies, to me, are nighttime butterflies, Dazzling the night with magical flashes of light. When I see these teeny tiny sparks dart in the night, I am overcome with a sense of comfort and calm, Same as when a butterfly flutters around me during the day. I’m drawn to the dance of both astonishing critters. They remind me of life. They remind me of hope.

Fire is calling my name. It is whispering words of encouragement, sweet things. It wants out, for me to fan the heat until it’s a vortex that can’t and won’t be stopped.

fire turns to flickering spark; I don't know if we'll last the dark; I tell you now to walk away; nobody can get me to stay

Find someone and live in awe of them.

Find your soul and keep it in your heart. Feed it, honor it for what it is, your presence in this world, open, fresh, inspirational.

Fire will run like poetry through your blood.

first of all nothing will happen and a little later nothing will happen again

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.

Five minutes after something happened might not be the best time for you to get into your Facebook and tell everybody. Men's panic does not produce God's power.

First, make sure the ocean is rolled by an older woman whose quick fingers have been rolling the ocean for as long as you’ve been alive – She’ll fatten the rice in hot, sugared water spiked with rice vinegar then make a soft bed of it to wrap a slip of fish muscle, squeezing the bamboo rolling mat until the ocean’s circumference is compacted in seaweed’s brittle corsetry. It takes her just moments to dress the ocean, its nudity a pink tongue poking from iridescent green nori wrap

First she starved herself of love, which meant also life; then of poetry in deference to what she thought her religion demanded.