Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

BEFORE HARMONY, HAPPINESSTENDS TO BE OUR QUEST.

Before we can fix the situation, we have to first see the situation, the world can't see straight right now, some are blinded by hatred, rage, fear, scepticism, some are blinded by their pains. We need to pray...pray that God open our eyes to see the problem from the source and not from the surface. You cannot solve a situation that you cannot see correctly.

Before you examine the body of a patient, Be patient to learn his story. For once you learn his story, You will also come to know His body. Before you diagnose any sickness, Make sure there is no sickness in the mind or heart. For the emotions in a man's moon or sun, Can point to the sickness in Any one of his other parts. Before you treat a man with a condition, Know that not all cures can heal all people. For the chemistry that works on one patient, May not work for the next, Because even medicine has its own Conditions. Before asserting a prognosis on any patient, Always be objective and never subjective. For telling a man that he will win the treasure of life, But then later discovering that he will lose, Will harm him more than by telling him That he may lose, But then he wins. THE MAXIMS OF MEDICINE by Suzy Kassem Copyright 1993-1994 - THE SPRING FOR WISDOM

Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak.

Before the spring arrives there are such days: Under the thick snow cover rests the lawn, The dry-and-jolly trees are making noise, Tender and strong, the wind is warm. And body is amazed at its own lightness, And your own home is alien to you, And song that had just previously been tiring With worry you are singing just like new.

Before we feel You were always dressed In black and grey; I came with my colors And you changed; Is this love?

before you grow you will break and sometimes this is the best kind of heartache

...before you, life was desolate - the past hardly worth remembering - and now, each moment a keepsake I can't throw away ...

Before the sun has licked across the fields, I wonder how to save myself before guilt sets like a stain. I wonder if the constellations above me can lift shame or if they're only a temporary solution for what I feel.

Before you were born, And were still too tiny for The human eye to see, You won the race for life From among 250 million competitors. And yet, How fast you have forgotten Your strength, When your very existence Is proof of your greatness. You were born a winner, A warrior, One who defied the odds By surviving the most gruesome Battle of them all. And now that you are a giant, Why do you even doubt victory Against smaller numbers, And wider margins? The only walls that exist, Are those you have placed in your mind. And whatever obstacles you conceive, Exist only because you have forgotten What you have already Achieved.

Be generous with your smile and try not to frown. And you will see my children; your smile will never let you down ☺

Be gentle with yourself while healing. And be prepared for great strength.

Before you, nothing. Now you, and everything

begitu sentimentil menemukan sebuah situs jutaan tahun mengingatkan pada kepurbaan pada zaman dimana tuhan masih mengutus nabinabi kepada percakapan musafiraun di tepi pantai yang paling diam pada sebuah malam yang mengenangnya membuatmu luruh ketika kau ingat kita pernah begitu dekat

Ego Tripping I was born in the congo I walked to the fertile crescent and built the sphinx I designed a pyramid so tough that a star that only glows every one hundred years falls into the center giving divine perfect light I am bad I sat on the throne drinking nectar with allah I got hot and sent an ice age to europe to cool my thirst My oldest daughter is nefertiti the tears from my birth pains created the nile I am a beautiful woman I gazed on the forest and burned out the sahara desert with a packet of goat's meat and a change of clothes I crossed it in two hours I am a gazelle so swift so swift you can't catch me For a birthday present when he was three I gave my son hannibal an elephant He gave me rome for mother's day My strength flows ever on My son noah built new/ark and I stood proudly at the helm as we sailed on a soft summer day I turned myself into myself and was jesus men intone my loving name All praises All praises I am the one who would save I sowed diamonds in my back yard My bowels deliver uranium the filings from my fingernails are semi-precious jewels On a trip north I caught a cold and blew My nose giving oil to the arab world I am so hip even my errors are correct I sailed west to reach east and had to round off the earth as I went The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid across three continents I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal I cannot be comprehended except by my permission I mean...I...can fly like a bird in the sky...

Being a blesséd writer is a cursed attribute, when you wish to no longer be encompassed by someone and yet you are surrounded by loose leaf papers filled with the sound of his voice.

Behold, O Lord, yet art thou nigh unto them that be reserved till the end: and what shall they do that have been before me, or we that be now, or they that shall come after us?

Behold yon rough and flinty road Where youth, now youth no more, Gropes whining, seeking crumbs of loaves He cast away of yore.

Being a poet one confronts the limitation of language, how can the spirit be revealed under any restrictions.

Being an American in Australia isn't easy, but I'm trying to integrate, I'm trying to fit in.

Being a star is depressing. It twinkles but is distant and cold. I'd rather be the moon, Shine in your glory and go around you forever!

Being one’s true and honest self can often be dangerous; and poetry should always be a place where, if only between the pages, that danger and energy and fear and excitement and love can fizz and spark without ever threatening to burn something down.

Being married or being in a close relationship is not based on how quickly you can get offended but on how you are ready to drop the offences, get over it and move ahead.

Being in sync with life allows you to experience human activities naturally, as each unfolds, and not how the mind construes the experiences.

Elämme parhaassa mahdollisessa maailmassa minä rakastan hitaita aamuja suurten maalattujen pintojen hiljaisuutta yöllisten valojen pirstomaa valtatietä opiskelijaneitoja joilla on housuissa latinalainen amerikka vanhoja ukkoja jotka imeskelevät sanaa kuin oopiumia pikkulapsia jotka palvovat pääskysiä minä rakastan repaleisia kirjoja lehtilukusalien vihjauksenomaista kahinaa kahviloiden onnittelevaa pöydänaluskieltä liikenteen melun kattamien puistojen häirikkökansalaisia villien voihkivien schnittkeviulujen melankolista onnea minä rakastan sinua kuin pappi joka pitää pappilastaan kynsin hampain kiinni (Alunperin: Sankareita ja silmänkääntäjiä, Kööpenhamina 1988)

Believe God for something today. Prayer is the key to connecting with God and allowing Him to speak to your spirit. Open your heart and free your mind.

Believable, chronological, but so quickly erased that it only serves to prove that the universe is made of curving, warping space.

Eldorado Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old— This knight so bold— And o’er his heart a shadow— Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow— ‘Shadow,’ said he, ‘Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?’ ‘Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,’ The shade replied,— ‘If you seek for Eldorado!

Believe me when I confess I am comfortable with the madness in you.

believe me when i say this. when you love someone. you can travel the world in their laugh.

Believe me when I say: 'Out of all those around, she’s the best locksmith in town.' Her stethoscope ears know when the dials of your heart click into place. She’s been cutting keys for years. You don’t stand a chance with that flimsy case. Alas, no matter how you lock your heart— bolt, fixture, and key— she’s got nimble fingers that pick locks for free. Padlocks and deadbolts are all in vain. Why do you even bother with that chain? She’s way too smart. Along with ours, she’ll have your heart. And you will see that the best locksmith in town is she.

believe, then, / in the mosquito: how it begins to take / your blood - heat and ghost and age and itch / as you press the net to your temples / and scratch in wild belief while / outside, leaves darken, insects / bite, and you smash a body / with the back / of your palm.

Bells ringing with no sound Laughter with no voice Happiness lost without being found Making love with no noise

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with merry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet in the night; The shaking of its leafy head Has given the waves their melody, And made my lips and music wed, Murmuring a wizard song for thee. There the Loves a circle go, The flaming circle of our days, Gyring, spiring to and fro In those great ignorant leafy ways; Remembering all that shaken hair And how the wingèd sandals dart, Thine eyes grow full of tender care: Beloved, gaze in thine own heart. Gaze no more in the bitter glass The demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while; For there a fatal image grows That the stormy night receives, Roots half hidden under snows, Broken boughs and blackened leaves. For all things turn to barrenness In the dim glass the demons hold, The glass of outer weariness, Made when God slept in times of old. There, through the broken branches, go The ravens of unresting thought; Flying, crying, to and fro, Cruel claw and hungry throat, Or else they stand and sniff the wind, And shake their ragged wings; alas! Thy tender eyes grow all unkind: Gaze no more in the bitter glass. - The Two Trees

Be mindful of angels guiding and guarding your path. Walk with them.

Endymion The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes,--the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity,-- In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him, who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again! No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own. Responds,--as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings; And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long?

Beneath the gentle gaze of a god turned in stone holding the dreaming wish of safety in our arms

be my sonata, my cantata, my love sing me something sweet but not too sweet (or i may grow deaf to our harmony as we decrescendo into silence)

Bennett advises his daughter not to develop a passion for poetry because it is ‘dangerous to a woman’: like novels, poetry heightens a woman’s ‘natural sensibility to an extravagant degree’ and ‘inspires a ‘romantic turn of the mind,’ that is ‘utterly inconsistent with the solid duties and priorities of life.

Be my lover between two wars waged in the mirror, she said. I don't want to return now to the fortress of my father's house. Take me to your vineyard. Let me meet your mother. Perfume me with basil water. Arrange me on silver dishes, comb me, imprison me in your name, let love kill me.

Beneath it all I kept faith with Ithaca, travelled, Travelled and travelled, Suffering much, enjoying a little; Met strange people singing New myths; made myths myself. But this lion of the sea Salt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail, Touched with power, insistent On this brief promontory... Puzzles.

Beloved, Dearest One: How I long to shout to the world our happiness. I feel that you and I are the only two people alive in the world - the only people that know the secret meaning of existence. I have no diamond rings, no gifts of love that other lovers have for their beloved. My poetry is all I have to offer you. And so I dedicate my collected verses, 'Poems of Poverty,' to you, beloved. Morris.

Beneath heaven’s vault remember always walking through halls of cloud down aisles of sunlight or through high hedges of the green rain walk in the world highheeled with swirl of cape hand at the swordhilt of your pride Keep a tall throat Remain aghast at life Enter each day as upon a stage lighted and waiting for your step Crave upward as flame have keenness in the nostril Give your eyes to agony or rapture Train your hands as birds to be brooding or nimble Move your body as the horses sweeping on slender hooves over crag and prairie with fleeing manes and aloofness of their limbs Take earth for your own large room and the floor of the earth carpeted with sunlight and hung round with silver wind for your dancing place

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of disappointed shells that dropped behind. GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime.-- Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-- My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be the Polar star of Poetry, as Fancy is the sails - and Imagination the rudder.

Be present to the people in front of you from moment to moment. Electronics and technology have a way of clouding our vision for the people sitting next to us. Uncloud your life, look around. Be present.

Be so filled with inner glorious moonlight to forbid bullshit and drama sneaking in the back door. Keep the poison out, and the love and star glitter flowing in.

Be still my hand and let the words write themselves upon my heart. Be still my heart and let your pages be filled in silence.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining

Be there a picnic for the devil, an orgy for the satyr, and a wedding for the bride.