All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“I can speak of you now to anyone because I’ve stopped wanting anything like what I once wanted from you.”

“Saki says that youth is like hors d’oeuvres: you are so busy thinking of the next courses you don’t notice it. When you’ve had them, you wish you’d had more hors d’oeuvres.”

“It was as important to live poetically as to write poems.”

“Only times and places, only names and ghosts.”

“I see a bird carrying me and carrying you, with us as its wings, beyond the dream, to a journey that has no end and no beginning, no purpose and no goal. I do not speak to you, and you do not speak to me; we listen only to the music of silence. Silence is the friend’s trust of friend, imagination’s self-confidence between rain and rainbow. A rainbow is inspiration provoking the poet, uninvited, the infatuation of the poet with the prose of the Quran. Which of your Lord’s blessings do you disown? We are absent, you and I; we are present, you and I. And absent. Which of your Lord’s blessings do you disown?”

“Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.”

“…wisely mingled poetry and prose.”

“Sexual intercourse began in nineteen sixty-three (Which was rather late for me) between the end of the Chatterley ban and the Beatles’ first LP.”

“L’aube exalteé ainsi qu’un peuple de colombes, et j’ai vu quelquefois ce que l’homme a cru voir!(And dawn, exalted like a host of doves – and then I’ve seen what men believe they’ve seen!)”

“The first fact of the world is that it repeats itself. I had been taught to believe that the freshness of children lay in their capacity for wonder at the vividness and strangeness of the particular, but what is fresh in them is that they still experience the power of repetition, from which our first sense of the power of mastery comes. Though predictable is an ugly little world in daily life, in our first experience of it we are clued to the hope of a shapeliness in things. To see that power working on adults, you have to catch them out: the look of foolish happiness on the faces of people who have just sat down to dinner is their knowledge that dinner will be served. Probably, that is the psychological basis for the power and the necessity of artistic form…Maybe our first experience of form is the experience of our own formation…And I am not thinking mainly of poems about form; I’m thinking of the form of a poem, the shape of its understanding. The presence of that shaping constitutes the presence of poetry.”

“someone’s senta loving notein lines of returning geeseand as the moon fillsmy western chamberas petals danceover the flowing streamagain I think of youthe two of usliving a sadnessaparta hurt that can’t be removedyet when my gaze comes downmy heart stays up”

“And I choose to be aloneRather than wrapped in arms I could never need.”

“Let them shoot us in the head,My blood will grow rootsand will blossom.”

“There is bad in all good authors: what a pity the converse isn’t true!”

“Dear, I can’t write, it’s all a fantasy: a kind of circling obsession.”