Best 129 quotes in «love poetry quotes» category

You’re thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it slip let it go say ”I give up” one last time and give him a sad smile. You’re thinking it shouldn’t be this hard, shouldn’t be this dark, thinking love could flow easily with no holding back and you’ve seen others find their match and build something great together, of each other, like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great things one by one, always together, and it seems grand. But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn’t live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone—no more—makes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle. You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming garden but that’s not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winter walking home alone and angry but falling asleep thinking you love him. This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don’t go I need you like you need me and maybe it’s not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castle and you can run from it your whole life but this is here in front of you. Maybe nurture it? Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an hour or two. This is your fairy. It ain’t perfect and it ain’t honey sweet with roses on the bed. It’s real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don’t throw it away searching for someone else’s love. Don’t be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone’s someone for someone. Be that someone for him. That’s your fairy tale. This is your castle. Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It’s yours if you make it so. Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.

Your eyes have the colour of the moon,

Your feet the steps you take are all poetry for me...

You see flaws in every face If you look long enough. That’s why I’m so afraid Of the word ‘forever’. Forever is long enough For sunrises to become stale For fire to become tame For a favorite song To become like nails On a chalkboard; Forever is long enough For passion to waste away Like grapes into raisins Under the beating sun Of countless days.

You will fall with me as a stone in the grave

you will miss me when it will rain and you will look outside the window and you will remember how I held you while we both looked at the raindrops falling from the sky and laughed together...

In the dance, one finds the cinema, the comic strips, the Olympic hundred meters and swimming, and what's more, poetry, love and tenderness.

I love poetry, be it in music or be it in Andrei Tarkovsky, Francesca Woodman or anyone else, I just love poetry.

Art sincerely obeys a mind,who is willing to tame a Wild Stone to mould a desired Shape.

ACTS OF LOVE Love is not a word Or a thought. It is the name for An action That breathes from its light. What do you DO In Love's name? And is it only done Outside In the light? Or with an inner Flame Illuminating Love's TRUE Name? I want to know. Are your actions Done by remote Or with SOUL? And when you say You love someone, Does a light go off Inside at all? What have YOU Done In the Name of LOVE? Because, Really, I want to know.

Adieu, valour: rust, rapier: be still, drum, for your manager is in love: yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit: write, pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio.

What are the sources of poetry? Love and death and the paradox of love and death. All poetry from the beginning is about Eros and Thanatos. Those are the only subjects. And how Eros and Thanatos interweave.

As long as I can hear the sweet melody of your words, I need not; The angel’s secret, to be whispered in my ears As long as I can lace your silky fingers round my own, I need not; Pretty diamonds, nor big cash nor gold As long as I can watch the handsome sunshine of your face, I need not; Open skies, nor snowfall, nor the rain As long as I can gaze into the emeralds of your eyes, I need not; New colors, new wings or paradise As long as I can feel the tender tickle of your breath, I need not; The drifting wind, nor its call, nor caress As long as I can feel your soft lips upon mine, I need not; Melted sugar, nor the most expensive of wines As long as I can feel your warm body close to me I need not; A blanket, nor a bonfire's luxury As long as I can see you every morning I wake, I need not; A mirror, nor a cloud, nor shade As long as I can keep you in every petal of memories I need not: Dreams, nor desires, nor fantasies And as long as I can hold you in every moment that I breathe, I need not; Oxygen, nor blood, nor heartbeats.

A Writer in Love. I was just a word weaver What did I know of love? Only that Some days when the words weren’t enough, I knew I was in love.

But, in the end, a kiss is just a kiss; I have no time for love, or seasoned lips.

But when you kiss me there's a spark, and I can't remember I'm only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.

Don't bow your head! It gets even harder... Look at me and say that, what was incomplete. Think of forbidden and dream, as I do. ...

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.

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

DON'T SAY, DO Do not say things You think I want to hear. Instead, Say what you sincerely mean, And really intend to do. Do not think you are helping me By occasionally Being here or there, If you really have no intention Of holding my hand All the way through. Do not say you care for me, If you do not care Whenever I'm clearly Down and blue. And do not want what's best For you, If you do not wish the best For me too. Do not calculate gifts or deeds Or your giving will never feel Genuinely true. Just say what you mean And mean what you say, And let's lay these down – As our love's Golden rules.

Forgive me, you are amiable and heavenly perfect. It is me who carries the old pain as if it were a badge of honour.

Happy be Thy world The world forgetting by the forgotten world; The failed attempts to remember the need to forget; Naturally, Eventually, Gradually, Usually, Finally ; Thy Allies will accompany you and end this Abruptly. For Thy, it may seem simple; Oh Shameless Crook! Thy have done it before and will do it again and when thy does it -- seems that only the innocence weeps.

He loves her for a reason and its not rational

His tongue was one of his greatest qualities. He knew exactly how to use it with me. Encouraging, kind, and loving words flowed freely and frequently from his lips. Always inspiring me to upgrade my thinking. His tongue spoke life into me… Awakening gifts in me that I didn’t know existed. He used his tongue wisely. Truth be told, he’s part of the reason why I am me. Exquisite, Powerful, Fearless, and Unapologetic. I’ll be forever grateful for his genuine love.

Home for me is not where I am. Home for me is a physical structure where the girl whom I love is sheltered and protected from the incoming storms of life. Home for me is not where I am safe, but where she is safe. Home for me is not where she exists, but where she lives. She is my home.

How like a winter has been my hard spring away from you, my harp. --Psalm

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861 How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

I am a Dancer; rehearsing the steps of our unheard song with utmost perfection. Never will you tap your feet consciously. I am a Singer; singing the tune of the song I always wanted you to hear. Never will the melody bring back our memories to you. I am an Orator; emphasizing and emoting what I feel for you. Never will you hear your name throughout. I am a Writer; penning all the unsaid intentions with sincerity. Never will you see your name at the top. Because at the end of it all I am Actor; Nevertheless you taught me how well to pretend!

I collect my thoughts, I choose my words, Whenever I decide to talk to you. But... I feel like a dumb, without a tongue, Whenever I reach in front of you. I wonder why it happens to me? even when my feelings are genuine and true.

I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.

I do not write about love as if I have invented it. I write about love because thoughts of you inspire self-forgetfulness. And because writing about you gives birth to a star. These stars sit inside me where there was once darkness.

If I began to draw myself away from you we’d still be like two mixed colors of paint impossible to separate.

If I have loved anyone truly it is you. You are the completeness of my incompleteness. You walked into my life and made me fall in love with life. I who was a wanderer in search of true love found the ocean of love in you. You came into my life like the rain to a parched desert. You made me understand the sensitivity and tenderness present within my own heart. You made a melancholy poet like me find the elixir of love. Your tenderness and sensitivity has pervaded into the very pore of my being. Last night you made me inhale the fragrance of the moon. I love you. And I can't love anyone else after you!

He danced closely but never touched. The air between them crackling and sparkling like an electrical fire that must be contained quickly or it will take everything.

I came up with a new reason To write your name today I plagiarized each letter From a love note you wrote me. The scent of ink was sacred to me In that relapsed moment… For a minute I could pretend The paper reminded me of your skin; I could pretend the glimmering ink Was the moonlit lake Of our summer night. But the pretending crumpled with paper And I threw us into the trash can For the bridge between us is long burned And it’s time I accepted that.

I guess you will always be my heart’s deepest wound. The kind that aches terribly. The kind that time could never heal. I glimpse a memory of you and I feel it! I feel both the joy and the pain of loving you.

I have hunger for your mouth, for your voice, for your hair

I heard your whispered fantasies so clear Softly told in my ear I opened my eyes you weren't there So real my dream, I was so aware But we'll meet again so certainly In our whispered fantasy

I found a night’s sky full of stars In your cinematic eyes And heard a symphony In your laughter.

I know you and I were lovers since 1000000000000 years

I'm afraid of waking up to a world where you see and I am not what you saw

I'm an open book in a closed room.

In love madly, traveling though the life-raft's unraveling in a beautiful tragedy, but gladly i'm still paddling through the ocean of your anatomy.

if you love somebody, tell them. if you think somebody may need a friend, be that friend. you don't want to be stuck in the aftermath of a tragedy, thinking, "oh, if only i'd said this. if only i'd done this.

In my heart is a space that is so sacred and none can enter in but you. And I shall wait for you though it takes forever, though my heart bleeds and my all consumed. I wait because I love you And love waits for the only one that it loves.

In Wales, they love with abandon. When a Welsh person loves you, you'll finally know your potential. They are different from the Americans, who are precarious with their love. They are different from the English, who are reserved even when you stand in front of them, naked, handing them your heart. The English give you their love in cups: here, you’ve been good. drink another glass. But the Welsh, they drown you in an ocean of love. You have their attention, their consideration. You have all of them. They aren’t even careful to keep any for themselves. It seems to me that only the Welsh know how to love, how to make someone feel loved. Because when a Welsh person loves you, you’ll finally know how it feels to belong to poetry.

I repeated: come with me, as if I were dying, and no one saw in my mouth the moon that was bleeding, no one saw the blood that was rising into the silence. Oh love, now let us forget the star with thorns!

I see now that no person who has ever loved has ever been spared from tears.

Is it possible to silence the mind of a lover without losing it? Getting desires fulfilled might satisfy it, taking away its peace.

It doesn’t really matter you aren’t here. The raindrops are keeping you alive through growing palm forests. Wild, untamed and unconquered, as your wandering heart.