Best 312 quotes in «poetic quotes» category

Medicinal Spirit, Inside Mirror Therapy becomes a harmony, and that harmony is built on levels, No one knows how to upscale another, for it has to come from the inside grails, Striking inflicts at the mirror and hatred to the being of creator, Causes hate in mirror too and abused flesh to the author, Changes come from its prudence and rationalism liberation, Not its pardon, A mirror is but a substance of a conscious, But identity says "let me fly" when journeying from the subconscious to the conscious.

Mistress Creation keeps calling my name... i long for her, and she, for me... we will be reunited soon. In the interim, i bide my time dreaming of her, writing about her and stretching her across the vast landscape of my imagination. "Soon", i whisper to her, "Soon

My dream was to be a scientist, but it turns out to be poetic scientific awakener.

Poetry is inspired by the elements of random thoughts, an overflow of gazing at the unseen.

Nobody must question your right to smoke, but I've right, too, not to inhale your smoke. First of all, health abuse is not a right; use of right ought to lead to life, not blight. You have right to party with unchecked noise, but I've right, too, not be pained by your noise. In short, a right can't be claimed as a right, if it violates other people's right.

Our house is quiet, small and plain, and yet its rooms run far and wide. A hundred pencils, swift as rain, writing on sheets of beaten gold would not be quick enough to hold the strange adventures shadows hide...

Pain is subtle. He has cold grey fingers. His voice is horse from crying & screaming... When people try to avoid him, he follows them silently & turns upas the bartender, or the bus driver... Pain has an elaborate filing system for keeping track of everyone... Pain respects people who are willing to take risks. If you... face him directly, he will give you a special ointment so your wounds don't fester.

Peace is the greatest state that Human minds ever longed to find Delight,Peace is as well the secret act that makes a Creative Heart renowned.

Naked you are blue like the night in Cuba, you have vines and stars in your hair,

Once there was an elephant, Who tried to use the telephant- No! no! I mean an elephone He tried to use the telephone- (Dear me! I am not certain quite That even now I've got it right.) Howe'er it was, he got his trunk Entangled in the telephunk; The more he tried to get it free, The louder buzzed the telephee- (I fear I'd better drop the song Of elephop and telephong!)

One of the most connective things we can do for ourselves, is to become world travelers of our own internal landscapes. What i love about creating art, is the excitement of turning that landscape inside out for all to see. And the kind of courage that takes, when i don't know what the outcome will be...

Parched by the deprivation of your love for so long made me forget what a cup brimming with love, on my lips, felt like. Everything that now wets it, only wrinkles it with a bland taste.

Pram wasn't told the story of her birth. But even as a very small girl, she felt deep in her chest that she was alive and dead at the same time.

Poetry is the articulation of emotion through language.

REVENGE is a kind of wild justice; which the more man’s nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out.

Settle your perfect hips here and the bow of wet arrows loosens into the night the petals that form your form let your clay limbs climb the silence and its pale ladder rung by rung taking off with me in my dream. I can sense you scaling the shade tree that sings to the shadows. Dark is the world’s night without you my love,

Scatter as a prayer escaping my lips... as orchids blooming in clouds.

Shake those stars from your hair, pretty Moonchild. It's time to dance with the noonday sun!

She is too perfect to be known by fragments. No mean brick shall be a specimen of the building of my palace.

She knew that the dead hid pieces of themselves in the world. They buried organs in the living. They stuffed memories into trees and clouds and other innocuous things.

She was the sky full of surprises. Her dreams were blue and breathtaking as a bright day and her secrets were dark and poetic as a cold night. Either way, she was the most beautiful mess that one had ever come across.

She pulled away, his grip no stronger than the strands of a spider web.

She was a drawing that hadn't been colored.

She wished that when her heart was beating double, she could give one of those hearts to him and then press her ear to his chest and feel it beating.

Someone asked me when is my birthday? The poet inside me replied, "My birthday is on the last day of the year, It's 31st December my dear!

Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered- every day- how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquility and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale- forceful enough so that the smoke didn't merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment- would complete the blissful experience.

Solitude became, for me, an interesting mosaic of broken pieces, a place where the neglected parts of myself get collected—for better and for worse, sometimes barely tolerated and sometimes arranged into lovely patterns.

Some people dream of becoming doctors or artists or veterinarians or teachers. I dream of the day Shaye laughs without stopping, and when she does, it will be only to take a breath before starting over again.

Some people wait to get flowers while others grow gardens.

Some talk about how to uplift the poor; others walk about lifting up the poor. Some talk about how to fight corruption; others walk about fighting corruption. Some just see mess as part of existence: "Rushing or dragging makes no difference." Others see mess like that of ship sinking: "Acting fast can save many from drowning.

..so Grandpa turned the rusty latchkey of his magnificent remembery and set free a symphony of stories

Solitude itself your happiness,when a train of some promised words break like beads from the Heart's decked chain.

Someone was playing piano nearby and the music drifted slowly in and out of my mind like the ebb and flow of ocean surf. i almost recognized the melody, but i could not be sure, it slipped like a cool and silken wind from my grasp.

Sometimes I believe that love dies but hope springs eternal. Sometimes I believe that hope dies but love springs eternal. Sometimes I believe that sex plus guilt equals love, and sometimes I believe that sex plus guilt equals good sex. Sometimes I believe that love is as natural as the tides, and sometimes I believe that love is an act of will. Sometimes I believe that some people are better at love than others, and sometimes I believe that everyone is faking it. Sometimes I believe that love is essential, and sometimes I believe that only reason love is essential is that otherwise you spend all your time looking for it.

Sometimes I muse about how wonderful it would be if I could string all my dreams together into one continuous life, a life consisting of entire days full of imaginary companions and created people.

Sometimes stars do fall to earth. It was true. They did and then became commonplace like the rest of the dirt on the planet. His star was one of a kind. He would never allow her to be like any other. Never allow her to be common or sullied. No, her place was in the sky. With her family. With her stinking pet wolf. Never with him. "Have a nice life, princess.

The Goddess of poetry,who loves to unveil the mystic truth of transparent life,never resembles a woman who hides to keep her secrets behind the false veil.

some winters will never melt some summers will never freeze and some things will only ... live in poems.

Stone gnomes and angels filled the gardens, and it seemed that they were also sleeping, as though a witch had cast a spell on them.

Tell me..how do you stand there? filling the doorway....of my life.

The clouds took on the shape of dancers; from somewhere far off, Pram heard music before the clouds became normal again.

Suddenly the full long wail of a ship's horn surged through the open window and flooded the dim room - a cry of boundless, dark, demanding grief; pitch-black and glabrous as a whale's back and burdened with all the passions of the tides, the memory of voyages beyond counting, the joys, the humiliations: the sea was screaming. Full of the glitter and the frenzy of night, the horn thundered in, conveying from the distant offing, from the dead center of the sea, a thirst for the dark nectar in the little room.

That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I learned that life is about sitting on benches next to ancient creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.

The cork was in the bottle. He and the Atropos were trapped.

The displacement of water is equal to the something of something.

The Estate of Solemnity By right, it reigns in its places- in long beards Of spanish moss hanging from a live oak On a windless evening, and in the chill of new Icicles rigidly, imperceptibly lengthening. Cavern Stalagmites are almost majestic with solemnity. The black morel and the tree ear mushroom Are solemn without grief, solemn without joy, Solemn without reverence, without a single Flicker of green or lift of a wing or cry. But the most solemn, most stalwart, the least Wavering are the tors and crags, the towering desert Spires and carved pinnacles, the devoted ascents And sharp, raw rims of boulders and bluffs, the maw Of a distant cave I saw yesterday and the day before, And the grave echo there of the day and the before. Mystics and divines have always sought the pure, White-rock serenity of the silent, solemn moon Bound in its flight alone far above the peaks, far Above the earth, surrounded there forever by bevies Of giddy stars, all asparkling, all aglow.

There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said. So much has happened; so little has changed. We have so many words prepared; so many words are too hard to actually say. A few days have passed; this pain has been here for years. We don't know where to go from here; our future has always been in our minds. Moments of peace with those who constantly argue; fights with those that usually bring peace. There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said.

Then the wind died down and the air grew warm and the flies awoke and started to drone, and they were a constant background hum, like ocean waves, rushing and ebbing and flowing, loud enough to hear through closed windows, and in great numbers, floods of flies, a communal purr, never just a single buzz.

The rays of sun spilled Like coffee into a pot Gently, warmly flowing Almost as an afterthought. The morning dew melted to vapor Rising into a morning mist As the supple steam rose from the cup And with the breeze, was dismissed. I took my mocha with extra cream As clouds drifted across the sky Forming thick, bushy clumps Becoming one with the liquid nearby. I took my first sip As sun crested horizon The heat nearly burnt my lips As blue sky began to lighten. I sighed with contentment Enjoying the myriad flavors The coffee swirled and mixed Rhythmically as the light wavered.

..there was no need to injure the shrubs, since we had already injured the quail.