Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

By nature, we want to be liked. We want to be accepted. But, most of the time, we allow our worth to be decided by the people on the sidelines. By people that see snapshots of our life but have no clue what the whole picture looks like.

By noon, silence arrives one last time, flowing into every space of her room. And before long, silence swallows sound and color and seconds and equations and entire stanzas of old poetry, leaving new words. The sheets are breathless. The room is bruised. My mother is still warm.

By studying, understanding and do the wills of the book, you renounce your mortal life.

By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. If any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night.

By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea, From there the wind comes and blows over the world, By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea, From there the clouds come and rain falls over the world.

cada hora, cada día, yo quisiera no tener que hablar. figuras de cera los otros y sobre todo yo, que soy más otra que ellos. nada pretendo en éste poema si no es desanudar mi garganta.

Call it esoteric, it's an enlightenment I the Word of God of what's going on in the world of government. We all want to be equal to one another, not better nor worst for equity compels performance. But to have that one must remember "Diligence is the responsibility of the party who stands to lose by lack thereof". So believe in God and your lack becomes a cup of overflowing abundance.

Candle In the Wind Author: Bernie Tauplin Goodbye Norma Jeane. Though I never knew you at all. You had the grace to hold yourself While those around you crawled. And they crawled out of the woodwork, And they whispered into your brain, They set you on the treadmill And they made you change your name. And it seems to me you lived your life Like a candle in the wind, Never knowing who to cling to When the rain set in. And I would have liked to have known you But I was just a kid, Your candle burned out long before Your legend ever did. Loneliness was tough. The toughest role you ever played. Hollywood created a superstar And pain was the price you paid. Even when you died The press still hounded you- All the paper had to say Was that Marilyn was found in the nude. Goodbye Norma Jeane. Though I never knew you at all. You had the grace to hold yourself While those around you crawled. Goodbye Norma Jeane. From the young man in the 22nd row Who sees you as something more than sexual, More than just our Marilyn Monroe.

CALL YOURSELF Look deep in the mirror And say: 'I LOVE YOU' And immediately An electric current will Ripple throughout your soul And burst through your eyes Like shooting stars Dancing across the skies In ecstasy. To tell your soul you love it - Is like remembering WHO YOU ARE After being in a coma For a hundred years. Your face will beam the light Of a hundred galaxies.

Când ne deschidem tu mie şi eu ţie, când ne scufundăm tu în mine şi eu în tine, când ne pierdem tu în mine şi eu în tine, Abia atunci eu sunt eu şi tu eşti tu.

Call me obsessed, color me consumed I’ve always been the type to notice The smell of a rose in bloom, But let me confess, this is new You’ve stopped my heart, let it resume And I, to finish, must tell it true I’m high on your perfume.

Cansado, sobre todo, de estar siempre conmigo, de hallarme cada día, cuando termina el sueño, allí, donde me encuentre, con las mismas narices y con las mismas piernas...

CANYON river, most mighty, waiting for the sun to melt a single snowflake

~Can You?~ In the depths of despair, I cry out. Do You see me here? In the puddles of tears, I die inside. Do You know I’m still alive? In the chair or prosecution, I am beaten. Do You see the blood on my hands? In the shadowlands of fear, I am lifeless. Do You still have faith in me? In the end of time, I fall on my face. Do You see me weeping? In the hurting eyes of others, I am heartless. Can You heal me? In the face of evil, I laugh. Can You protect me? In the church, I feel Your Presence, I’ve forgotten how to respond. Can You teach me? In the fields of battle, I long for a shot, To wake me up. Can I start again? When I look in the mirror, I see eyes, Bolted up and locked with pride. Can You soften my heart? Can You give me hope? Can You help me believe in myself? Can You?

Can you look at this brilliant wound?

Canto I And then went down to the ship, Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly sea, and We set up mast and sail on that swart ship, Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward Bore us out onward with bellying canvas, Circe’s this craft, the trim-coifed goddess. Then sat we amidships, wind jamming the tiller, Thus with stretched sail, we went over sea till day’s end. Sun to his slumber, shadows o’er all the ocean, Came we then to the bounds of deepest water, To the Kimmerian lands, and peopled cities Covered with close-webbed mist, unpierced ever With glitter of sun-rays Nor with stars stretched, nor looking back from heaven Swartest night stretched over wretched men there. The ocean flowing backward, came we then to the place Aforesaid by Circe. Here did they rites, Perimedes and Eurylochus, And drawing sword from my hip I dug the ell-square pitkin; Poured we libations unto each the dead, First mead and then sweet wine, water mixed with white flour. Then prayed I many a prayer to the sickly death’s-heads; As set in Ithaca, sterile bulls of the best For sacrifice, heaping the pyre with goods, A sheep to Tiresias only, black and a bell-sheep. Dark blood flowed in the fosse, Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead, of brides Of youths and of the old who had borne much; Souls stained with recent tears, girls tender, Men many, mauled with bronze lance heads, Battle spoil, bearing yet dreory arms, These many crowded about me; with shouting, Pallor upon me, cried to my men for more beasts; Slaughtered the herds, sheep slain of bronze; Poured ointment, cried to the gods, To Pluto the strong, and praised Proserpine; Unsheathed the narrow sword, I sat to keep off the impetuous impotent dead, Till I should hear Tiresias. But first Elpenor came, our friend Elpenor, Unburied, cast on the wide earth, Limbs that we left in the house of Circe, Unwept, unwrapped in sepulchre, since toils urged other. Pitiful spirit. And I cried in hurried speech: “Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast? “Cam’st thou afoot, outstripping seamen?” And he in heavy speech: “Ill fate and abundant wine. I slept in Circe’s ingle. “Going down the long ladder unguarded, “I fell against the buttress, “Shattered the nape-nerve, the soul sought Avernus. “But thou, O King, I bid remember me, unwept, unburied, “Heap up mine arms, be tomb by sea-bord, and inscribed: “A man of no fortune, and with a name to come. “And set my oar up, that I swung mid fellows.” And Anticlea came, whom I beat off, and then Tiresias Theban, Holding his golden wand, knew me, and spoke first: “A second time? why? man of ill star, “Facing the sunless dead and this joyless region? “Stand from the fosse, leave me my bloody bever “For soothsay.” And I stepped back, And he strong with the blood, said then: “Odysseus “Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas, “Lose all companions.” And then Anticlea came. Lie quiet Divus. I mean, that is Andreas Divus, In officina Wecheli, 1538, out of Homer. And he sailed, by Sirens and thence outward and away And unto Circe. Venerandam, In the Cretan’s phrase, with the golden crown, Aphrodite, Cypri munimenta sortita est, mirthful, orichalchi, with golden Girdles and breast bands, thou with dark eyelids Bearing the golden bough of Argicida. So that:

Zero Holding I grow to like the bare trees and the snow, the bones and fur of winter. Even the greyness of the nunneries, they are so grey, walled all around with grey stones— and the snow piled up on ledges of wall and sill, those grey planes for holding snow: this is how it will be, months now, all so still, sunk in itself, only the cold alive, vibrant, like a wire—and all the busy chimneys—their ghost-breath, a rumour of lives warmed within, rising, rising, and blowing away.

Cada vez que te enamores no expliques a nadie nada, deja que el amor te invada sin entrar en pormenores

Calla, calla, princesa —dice el hada madrina—; en caballo, con alas, hacia acá se encamina, en el cinto la espada y en la mano el azor, el feliz caballero que te adora sin verte, y que llega de lejos, vencedor de la Muerte, a encenderte los labios con un beso de amor

Choices! Choices!! Choices!!! I have chosen love over hate. I have chosen faith over fears. I have chosen courage over cowardice. I have chosen strength over weakness. I have chosen positive thinking over negative thoughts.

children when they ask you why is your mama so funny say she is a poet she don't have no sense

Choice, and all its attendant energy, is a characteristic of youth. It is before one chooses that one feels desire and longing without fulfillment, which gives an edge to any artistic endeavor. Galway Kinnell recently said in an interview that a young poet has so many choices but an old poet must simply endure his chosen life.

Choose wisely From those who start A fire in your heart. Some may burn you to shreds, While you were looking for warmth.

choose your words well (be honest, be true) but above all else, be kind

Christ did not ask or want to be what he was not.

Christians we cannot be allowed to be fractured at a time like this. There are more of us, there are more of light in us than in the agents of darkness.

Christmas time is here. You see it everywhere. Wreaths hanging on doors. Lights hanging on every house and porch. It’s that time of year, Where families gather for Christmas cheer. Having eggnog And loving God. Everybody loves it, Christmas is special To you and me As you can see. I love Christmas so much. Celebrating Jesus’ birth. He was born in a stable on that cold winter’s night. He changed the world on that night, bright.

Christ Speaks: In your gentle hand hold my love in your palm Once my hands were thorny and bloody, yet I still beam love to humanity through my heart, mine eyes, mine soul, imbued by the most gentle hands of all Our Holy Spiritual Oneness

Christ rose so long ago but the air he rose through hasn't forgotten the slight red contrail from the wounds.

City of Vassillian a party of five sage princes with four horses. The princes, who are of course brave, noble and wise, travel widely in distant lands, fight giant ogres, pursue exotic philosophies, take tea with weird gods and rescue beautiful monsters from ravening princesses before finally announcing that they have achieved enlightenment and that their wanderings are therefore accomplished. The second, and much longer, part of each song would then tell of all their bickerings about which one of them is going to have to walk back. All this lay in the planet’s remote past.

Cinta adalah rasa yang kuucap dalam setiap desah dan cuaca, tak sampai-sampai getarnya padamu.

Cleave to the common good. We are all responsible for bringing about the time of great suffering, for its continuing.

Capitalizing a capital on our heads through the sweat of our brow. It's debt for nature exchange, read in between the nature of words and see what I'm trynna explain.

Can we disagree graciously I am tired of people not knowing the volume of their power.

Care: not carnage Love: not loathing Peace: not pieces

Careful. The fall is quick, steep, and permanent.

...careful the morning lest it wake from slumber the city half-encumbered by the morning mist ...

. . . car il n'est point vrai que l'oeuvre de l'homme est finie que nous n'avons rien à faire au monde que nous parasitons le monde qu'il suffit que nous nous mettions au pas du monde mais l'oeuvre de l'homme vient seulement de commencer et il reste à l'homme à conquérir toute interdiction immobilisée aux coins de sa ferveur et aucune race ne possède le monopole de la beauté, de l'intelligence, de la force . . .

Carry good cheer in the morning; Carry good cheer in the night. Effort is sweeter and living completer, If ever we walk in love's light.

Carefully the leaves of autumn sprinkle down the tinny sound of little dyings and skies sated of ruddy sunsets of roseate dawns roil ceaselessly in cobweb grey and turn to black for comfort.

...cause it was hard... so much harder... when I couldn't live with me.

cast my barcode to the satellites; send my blood to sea

Ce fut le temps sous de clairs ciels, (Vous en souvenez-vous, Madame?) De baisers superficiels Et des sentiments à fleur d'âme. It was a time of cloudless skies, (My lady, do you recall?) Of kisses that brushed the surface And feelings that shook the soul.

Caxtons are mechanical birds with many wings and some are treasured for their markings-- they cause the eyes to melt or the body to shriek without pain. I have never seen one fly, but sometimes they perch on the hand. Mist is when the sky is tired of flight and rests its soft machine on the ground: then the world is dim and bookish like engravings under tissue paper. Rain is when the earth is television. It has the properites of making colours darker. Model T is a room with the lock inside -- a key is turned to free the world for movement, so quick there is a film to watch for anything missed. But time is tied to the wrist or kept in a box, ticking with impatience. In homes, a haunted apparatus sleeps, that snores when you pick it up. If the ghost cries, they carry it to their lips and soothe it to sleep with sounds. And yet, they wake it up deliberately, by tickling with a finger. Only the young are allowed to suffer openly. Adults go to a punishment room with water but nothing to eat. They lock the door and suffer the noises alone. No one is exempt and everyone's pain has a different smell. At night, when all the colours die, they hide in pairs and read about themselves -- in colour, with their eyelids shut.

Change, change, change it all Fuck the egg, it'll crack And they point and condemn Those these and them Digiting a shower of crap

Chance is your god Though you're falling free you will land hard

Changement de décor Zodra de dag als een dreigbrief in mijn kamer wordt geschoven worden de rode zegels van de droom door snelle messen zonlicht losgebroken huizen slaan traag hun bittere ogen op en sterren vallen doodsbleek uit hun banen terwijl de zwijgende schildwachten nachtdroom en dagdroom haastig elkaar hun plaatsen afstaan legt het vuurpeloton van de twaalf nieuwe uren bedaard op mij aan

CHANGGAN MEMORIES When first my hair began to cover my forehead, I picked and played with flowers before the gate. You came riding on a bamboo horse, And circled the walkway, playing with green plums. We lived together, here in Changgan county, Two children, without the least suspicion. When I was fourteen, I became your wife, So shy that still my face remained unopened. I bowed my head towards the shadowed wall, And called one thousand times, I turned not once. At 15 I began to lift my brows, And wished to be with you as dust with ashes. You always kept your massive pillar faith, I had no need to climb the lookout hill. When I was sixteen, you went far away, To Yanyudui, within the Qutang gorge. You should not risk the dangerous floods of May, Now from the sky, the monkeys cry in mourning. Before the gate, my pacing's left a mark, Little by little, the green moss has grown. The moss is now too deep to sweep away, And leaves fall in the autumn's early winds. This August, all the butterflies are yellow, A pair fly over the western garden's grass. I feel that they are damaging my heart, Through worrying, my rosy face grows old. When you come down the river from Sanba, Beforehand, send a letter to your home. We'll go to meet each other, however far, I'll come up to Changfengsha.

Change like a tree When it is winter Don’t complain or fear Just wait for the spring To bloom and sing

Chaque chose doit resplendir à son heure, et cette heure est celle où des yeux véritables la regardent.