Best 182 quotes in «poetry love quotes» category

Forse ogni poeta è condannato all'insoddisfazione. Dev'essere per colpa della luce che li abbaglia

God designed love to make the world living; so if world's dying, we know what's missing. When missing, God designed another thing: "This one is hatred-to do repairing." Oh, how the world treats hatred as beastly; yet sans hatred, who'll fight depravity? Hatred used to correct is celestial; but when used to oppress, it is bestial.

God is a woman intimate at night and a hung devil in the morning

Have you been caring to all your children? Will they take you than be at old folks' den? Will they feel honored pushing your wheelchair? Will hearts break when your breath runs out of spare?

He loved her like a roaring lion, even when she was most unlovable, and there's a lot to be said for that...that kind of fierce, raging, omnipotent love.

Her silhouette never has regrets.

I am a wildflower in your perfect bed of roses.

Hold my hand,and let me catch your pace Even if i'm last,you on first; we both won the race

How might I get over this? How would I be able to overlook the way he used to be with me? How could I overlook that his fingers touched my indiscernible soul before it twisted my nipples? How might I overlook his essence that still is in my garments? Despite everything, I still hear you saying that you love me. Though I know you don't.

how these words, wait to die in the arms of all the poetry.. yet to be written.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood, neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eye I am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

I bleed to un-break you, un-mending me. I fall to save you... now who will save me.

I asked of the limitless sunshine How to shine with the dawn's glowing light; No answer came back from the sunshine, But my soul heard a whisper, "Burn bright!

I balance you on the end of my pen. Teetering between love and letting go.

I build boxes and place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

I can't love anymore. Except for you... I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

i am permanently tanned in the summer of poetry.

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.

If I cannot fix your broken heart can I put mine in its place, because these stars are not enough, and all the money in the world does not equal your worth.

If my like for you was a footy crowd, you'd be deaf cos of the roar. And if my like for you were a boxer, there'd be a dead guy lying on the floor. And if my like for you were sugar, you'd lose your teeth before you were twenty. And if my like for you was money, let's just say you'd be spending plenty.

if poetry music books art sky ocean don't make you cry you should stare longer read more listen with your soul.

I hold you in my mouth, in the words that contain you, in the unsaid and the haunts, in all the forms your name.

I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.

I looked at an angel today, but the angel could not see me. The angel was more amazing than beautiful, like the best forgotten dream.

I'll tattoo your heart with words from my soul, and ink from my pen.

I loved it, ... when I could turn your soul, master your thoughts, paint your heart in the colors of my dreams and make you forget about your sorrow... (Excerpted from My confession, chapter Pain)

I'll never recover from being wrapped around your soul.

I must have been a poet, that might justify the high sensibility drifted apart. But then, I ask myself: “What is a poet without his voice of happiness?” “What is a poet when his sensibility is found in nothing but fatal solitude and deep melancholy?!” My beliefs pour into unfounded questions of my soul's floated songs. (Excerpted from Tears of pain, chapter Pain)

I must find you. So I travel to the depths of hell and conquer perverse monsters and repulsive demons and the deceitful vicious devil himself to find the truth.

I painted for the eyes, and wrote prose for the ears… Between those senses lay the mind and soul… I enjoyed connecting with people’s deepest thoughts, their hopes and dreams… My pen and brush were tools to achieve my artistic desired effects.

In this story I am the poet You're the poetry.

I need to work on me. The me without you.

...in India ink your writing is lovely, but not as lovely as your hand - it is your hand - I know your hand - it fits so well in mine ...

In that wounded place, buried between my ribs and letting go, I miss you.

In the distance, a Benz motor sounds. A neon light wraps itself around the driver and the winter that beats in his heart. His heart stays cold. stays melting.

In the Light of your Wisdom, You Shine. In the Midst of your Truth, Your Faith is Evident. From inside your Spirit, You are Love.

In time, we found a common interest in poetry. He reads nothing else. Day in, day out. Never happier he is than when reading impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony or sundered hearts destroyed by wretchedness.

In you I see an immaculate woman full of feminine grace and untarnished beauty.

I see the beauty in you, and the darkness. Both are brilliant.

I see such radiant beauty in you that you have become my muse, the sun to my planet.

It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.

I think the way the sun shines on you has nothing to do with the sun but everything to do with you.

-I told you: My heart is from another youth My blood, from another sea Do not come close to my shores But do not wander far from my lands For it is in your eyes Alone That I look for the day And on your lips Alone That I look for the rain I give you my island My storms and my tide If you let me moor To your quiet waters And hide under flowers.

I urge you to come on feet faster than the wind, Come and rise over my breast and take root in me and plough me. And no matter what befalls you while we're entwined, Don't let me go until you've flushed me thrice.

It was her laughter that made me love her. Her shy inappropriate madness is what made her beautiful.

I wait on my fix: I am a poetry junkie.

I've never seen beauty so devastating as in the lines that trace our hope and fall from the stars.

I wish that I could fly into the sky and touch the clouds with my hands.

I was just an option. Blown easily to pieces and offered to the sky by the sweet laced pain upon your lips.

I wish to pervade your mind and slowly discover your secrets!