Best 312 quotes in «poetic quotes» category

There are no poetic ideas; only poetic utterances.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

'Therefore' is a word the poet must not know.

There is nothing more poetic than the truth. He who does not see poetry in it will always be a poor versifier outside of it.

There is poetry as soon as we realize that we possess nothing.

There is something beautiful, touching and poetic when one person loves more than the other, and the other is indifferent.

The study of sickness is the most poetic of the sciences.

We have heard much about the poetry of mathematics, but very little of it has yet been sung. The ancients had a juster notion of their poetic value than we.

The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood.

Usually a life turned into a poem is misrepresented.

There is nothing as dreamy and poetic, nothing as radical, subversive, and psychedelic, as mathematics.

To a poet, silence is an acceptable response, even a flattering one.

Woody Allen is a genius. His films are wonderful. He's poetic, but he's also a critic. He artfully steps back from a social setting and criticizes it without - I suspect - without letting himself be vulnerable to it.

When critics are waiting to pounce upon poetic style on exactly the same grounds as if it were prose, the poets tremble.

A Beauty can count myriad gifts by Nature, as well as fear.

A lie is yet a lie, though bought worldwide; soon it shall fade with coming of new tide. Truth remains truth, though stepped on like a dime; soon it shall reign with the passing of time. A lie lasts as long as there's suppression, for lies were but of man's fabrication. Truth lasts as long as there's constellation, for truths were but of Nature's formation.

we know by the odour that occasionally we are visited by skunks, which are not poetic but very beautiful.

Why should you be bogged down with my titles and how I thought about it and my poetic reasoning? No, that's not necessary. Either you're going to be drawn into it [or not]. It's a black hole; gravity should pull you in and you should have that experience.

5.57am and I’m finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn’t get much easier.

A great many a drop of water will create a creek.

Ah! stir well your fancy, fear not to tell me those deep heart secrets now,look the sun goes down the high hills and by the tree shades we sat,in adored pose;along side the lake we sat,kissed by the winds nigh.

A loner by nature and an introvert... i am a twinkling star, burning bright amidst a cloudless night. As such, i tend to fade in and out of people's lives. This aspect of me is often misunderstood as rejection or a lack of love and caring. In reality, the only way i can survive as an introvert, is to drop from the sky, from time-to-time, recharging within the energizing landscape of my inner-universe. To love me, is to let me me have the space i need to illuminate the sky. I can't be taken hostage or held captive. Inner-light is what gives my star its twinkle.

An Artist has his Imagination never dies,but it Grows you a Mystery, about its True Origin.

and I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else. She was only the faint violet whiff and dead leaf echo of the nymphet I had rolled myself upon with such cries in the past; an echo on the brink of a russet ravine, with a far wood under a white sky, and brown leaves choking the brook, and one last cricket in the crisp weeds... but thank God it was not that echo alone that I worshipped. What I used to pamper among the tangled vines of my heart, mon grand pch radieux, had dwindled to its essence: sterile and selfish vice, all that I cancelled and cursed. You may jeer at me, and threaten to clear the court, but until I am gagged and halfthrottled, I will shout my poor truth. I insist the world know how much I loved my Lolita, this Lolita, pale and polluted, and big with another’s child, but still gray-eyed, still sooty-lashed, still auburn and almond, still Carmencita, still mine; Changeons de vie, ma Carmen, allons vivre quelque, part o nous ne serons jamais spars; Ohio? The wilds of Massachusetts? No matter, even if those eyes of hers would fade to myopic fish, and her nipples swell and crack, and her lovely young velvety delicate delta be tainted and torneven then I would go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of your dear wan face, at the mere sound of your raucous young voice, my Lolita.

Amateurs… They’re like of a pack of clay pigeons to the shotgun they call poetic justice.

...and the women spread their ntsaroz and sit on one side, the men on the other, like they are two different rivers that are not supposed to meet.

And wilderness is paradise now.

... And when the giant clam opened you were standing there dressed only in kelps and weeds of the ocean. And you held in your hand a starfish, and you said, 'Take, my Queen, this is for you. I bring you the stars, the stars from the borderless sea.

A rain like melting pillows… a rain so beautiful I could never have let go of if not certain that someday...it would find its way into my poem.

Are we like two stars in a constellation Seeming so close And making so much sense Yet in reality We are separated by lightyears And shall never meet? Except, perhaps In that sacred space Between dreams and reality Called hope.

Art lets man awake,so an Artist becomes an entertainer.

As an artist, i live in fantasy and flirt with reality. I'm an emotional magician of sorts. I paint my feelings onto the abstract canvas of a waking dream. I suspend my concepts in the ether's of otherworldly realms. This is the way my existence has always been. I am untethered, a traveler between worlds. I sinuously slip in and out of the real and surreal, until, they are one and the same. I do not like being shackled or chained, to the physical plane.

And stay, my dear stay... forever, as my quiet song, in my lilac dawn.

Approaching the Start of Civil Exams Perhaps I was once a young Chinese scholar approaching the start of civil exams, my mind grown weary and sad from seclusion with books on syntax and poetic style. All that I knew were the mist-covered mountains and sweet white blossoms of mountain apples that grew in the valleys of my province. But I had been gone over six years busy with studies in the Heavenly City empty and thin despite my work. I showed my verses to an older poet who told me a truth I longed to believe: all knowledge is futile and barren which does not open the love of your friends.

As artists, we create the beauty We are too afraid to live out And search, but always fall just shy Of finding what life is about.

A way a lone a last a loved a long the—

a single poem the thing that can keep me light on my feet, when my soul is heavy with sorrow.

Bagaimana kita tahu bahwa Tuhan bukanlah matahari?

At my dying breath i'll do my best to tell you: "Walk on" Whether it be the toughest fight or darkest night; Through fields of fire and restless tire, walk on. When armies march through the land of god and tyrants get away with fraud; When the black crow flies as good men die, walk on. When friends have fallen and death is calling; When i'm dead and gone, walk on.

a young man was hung by a rope made of Stalingrad snow

Being a poetic heart is more like a throbbing self, a pretty melancholic wave inward tides,for many a time I begged the living world's mercy and how many times you fade my dreams at every day break.

Because we were not in our country, we could not use our own languages, and so when we spoke our voices came out bruised.

Bracy sighed, "So this wasn't the heart...it was the head." "Bracy don't try to be poetic; it doesn't suit you.

Battered was my heart in the deep search, branded with cracks like slices of silver birch. An ignorant dream, a wish, just fool's gold -- that was the tale that love had sold.

Cease, stranger, cease those witching notes, The art of syren choirs; Hush the seductive voice that floats Across the trembling wires. Music's ethereal power was given Not to dissolve our clay, But draw Promethean beams from heaven To purge the dross away.

Connecting with others, who can see the poetic visions

Descobri a minha estrela. Ela é bela e graciosa. Elegante e divina. O meu riso no inverno. Ela é corajosa e forte. Arrojada e tentadora. Diferente de qualquer outra no universo e não posso tocar-lhe. Nem me atrevo a tentar.

But the future lay open, a thousand kaleidoscopic possibilities with a small quick heartbeat, delicate and impatient

Buchstaben zu empfinden, sie nicht nur mit den Augen in Büchern zu lesen, - einen Dolmetsch in mir selbst aufzustellen, der mir übersetzt, was die Instinkte ohne Worte raunen, darin muß der Schlüssel liegen, sich mit dem eigenen Innern durch klare Sprache zu verständigen, begriff ich.

Deny the venom can't kill you, it can. Deny the bullets can't harm you, they can. No one has fought Nature and came out glad. If you can cheat Nature, you can cheat God.