Best 74 quotes in «verse quotes» category

...and when we die we die alone I cry, I cry alone Like a piece of stone I am thrown into the wavy ocean of life to atone...to atone Only to atone...

All that can best be expressed in words should be expressed in verse, but verse is a slow thing to create; nay, it is not really created: it is a secretion of the mind, it is a pearl that gathers round some irritant and slowly expresses the very essence of beauty and of desire that has lain long, potential and unexpressed, in the mind of the man who secretes it. God knows that this Unknown Country has been hit off in verse a hundred times... Milton does it so well in the Fourth Book of Paradise Lost that I defy any man of a sane understanding to read the whole of that book before going to bed and not to wake up next morning as though he had been on a journey.

And yet methinks the older that one grows Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

A poet's work', he answers. 'To name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep.' And if rivers of blood flow from the cuts his verses inflict, then they will nourish him.

A Bohemian life, filled with poetry, it cuts like a knife, without coquetry!

Aries is the forward type. He doesn't lose his head, except when rushing headlong in where angels fear to tread.

Chasing the uncertainty of the wind; mocked by the certainty of uselessness.

Dark night knows what full moon requires When all your love my heart acquires Celestial bodies no more faded Life makes sound; silence invaded

Did I live the spring I’d sought? It’s true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren’t lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o’er crests of trees, to none belong; o’er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.

Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high Around its sigh, no more alone the sky Other birds remain away, clouds pass by Between shrouds of life and haze sun rays die

Every morning before the birds start trilling me their stories, I give birth to a new love through my same old heart when a lake’s placidity finds life in the swans breath Only for you... From the poem 'Only For You

...gripping the rim of the sink you claw your way to stand and cling there, quaking with will, on heron legs, and still the hot muck pours out of you. (p. 27)

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

How curiously one is changed by the addition, even at a distance, of a friend. How useful an office one's friends perform when they recall us. Yet how painful to be recalled, to be mitigated, to have one's self adulterated, mixed-up, become part of another.

I cannot live to hear the news from England. But I do prophesy th' election lights On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice. So tell him, with th' occurents, more and less, Which have solicited - the rest is silence.

I climb the door instead of a tree Just to crawl with myself walking free What if I’m a lizard beneath my skin Changing my colours of the human I’ve been

blue-gold sky, fresh cloud, emerald-black mountain, trees on rocky ledges, on the summit, the tiny pin of a telephone tower-all brilliantly clear, in shadow and out. and on and through everything everywhere the sun shines without reservation (p. 97)

Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breath No spine to shiver, no heart talks At life’s craving poverty mocks From the poem 'Exhumation

Der größte Ernst des Lebens, kann nicht das Lächeln deiner Seele besiegen.

Every known thing used to be unknown And every rock could become a stone Someday nature will have to atone When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone

Give me a moment I am preparing to drawback to scream Louder than a train overhead below a railroad bridge

I am dead to the wild world's lunacy, And now rest in a tranquil universe! I live alone in my own holy ecstasy, Within my rapture—within my Verse!

I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)

I do have a funny perception of mine I'd like to share. Being basically a lifetime poet. I've had many people say "I don't like poetry" But they'll listen to song after song that rhymes on the end in couplets Just a thought...

I feed my heart with sighs, that's all it asks, I live on tears, I think I'm born to weep; I don't complain of that, since in my state weeping is sweeter than you might believe.

I found an empty chair and sat on it to find myself even emptier. I found a broken glass and looked at it to see my dissolved face a little prettier I found a steep doorway and entered in order to close my exit. From the poem 'Blue Stanzas

I left smiles on your wordless lips The night roads- dismal and narrow, dream’s path remains shadowy wide as our lone hearts felt that arrow From the Poem 'My Tomorrow

I'll never let you brood over my numbness As long as your onion love I peel and cry I'll never let you taste my salty confusions As long as your closed-door I latch and sigh - From the poem- Behind

In all the flames of fire fume’s left the trace Into the bluest sea the sky is drowned The miracles of life can you embrace From the poem 'Can You Embrace?

Incomparable wound weeps through a parable Barrenness I bear into the unbearable I read the pale sadness from the unreadable My mind starts breeding from the bare unbreedable

In the course of the history of art and literature we repeatedly meet this stylistic differentiation according to subject-matter. For example, the dual manner of characterization employed by Shakespeare, according to which his servants and clowns speak in everyday prose but his heroes and lords in elaborately artistic verse, corresponds to this ‘Egyptian’, thematically determined alternation of style. For Shakespeare’s characters do not speak the different language of the various classes as they exist in reality, like the characters in a modern drama, for instance, who are all drawn naturalistically, whether they are of high or low degree, but the members of the ruling class are portrayed in a stylized manner and express themselves in a language non-existent in real life, whereas the representatives of the common people are described realistically and speak the idiom of the street, the inns and the workshop.

I saw sunrises fade and burn among fleets of sparks. The moon blossomed like a lily carved of bone... The Death of the Astronaut, page 390.

My verse, my blood.

I could not eat a kangaroo. But many fine Australians do. Those with cookbooks as well as boomerangs Prefer him in tasty kangaroo-meringues.

If I die today, will you remember me tomorrow? The love I'm leaving behind, will you care to borrow? From a snake-shed-skin or from the sky unknown In all living and the dead I'll dwell to groan

If it is time that you are talking to Don’t forget the path you are walking through Sudden flare of past might stalk you Never allow moments to mock you

If I were a flower, humming bird would be my favourite bee And If I were blind, the light of darkness I'd love to see

I hear a butterfly singing when you’re the brightest band of colours on those fluttering forewings to send love closer to me with a pulsing promise; as you become its heart beating through those miniscule veins From the poem- Token of Life

I’ll sing you a tale, Of evil and woe, On his way to school, was little Joe, All that was found was his bloody coat, His bastard tormentor had cut his throat.

In the boundaryless forests, there’re dancers of nude. Yet in the confines of pasture, there’s promise of food. On which is your side? Ô, but tarry and bide, ere you decide, in both do confide.

I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I'm 56 and I often want to write like a child.

It’s my broken sore mending the unbreakable A deep shaken hollow from the unshakeable

I’ve reached the vanishing point without you. Here my heartache begins with your pain trying to find an unborn start in this fatal disappearance From the poem ‘Me with the Vanishing Point

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me; Hell might afford my miseries a shelter; Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all Bolted against me. Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers, Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors, I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence Worse than Abiram's. Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong; I, fed with judgement, in a fleshy tomb, am Buried above ground.

Night after night on starry wings Night lovers soared so high Miles apart, across the oceans Their love forgot to sigh In heavenly flight’s timelessness That highest height treasured Into the deepest of all blues Their depth of love measured. From the poem 'The Ballad of Night Lovers

Of course I had to talk to myself. I had no prayer God. I had no prayer doG. Why not reverse bark and froth and recite verse?

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)

Sealing your lips makes your eyes talk Truth creeps beneath your lame feet’s walk Knees stiffen when blood vessels stalk A pounding heart’s lies hard as rock

Sitting in a corner, I live like a toad Oh! How I love my room: my tiny abode! Here I wake up; and I sleep in here The world far away; yet virtually near Not that I'm jailed in this place of grace Just don't want to face another face

Starlight beats when heart twinkles Youthful sky beyond cloudy wrinkles Muse of glory to flame the night Verse inscribed as written light