All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her ‘Ode to an Expiring Frog,’ sir.”

“Sufilere sohbet gerek Ahilere ahret gerek Mecnunlara Leyla gerek Bana seni gerek seni”

“Impatience kills quickly.”

“Paris and HelenHe called her: golden dawnShe called him: the wind whistlesHe called her: heart of the skyShe called him: message bringerHe called her: mother of pearl barley woman, rice provider, millet basket, corn maid, flax princess, all-maker, weefShe called him: fawn, roebuck, stag, courage, thunderman, all-in-green, mountain strider keeper of forests, my-love-ridesHe called her: the tree isShe called him: bird dancingHe called her: who stands, has stood, will always standShe called him: arriverHe called her: the heart and the womb are similarShe called him: arrow in my heart.”

“Poetry’s work is the clarification and magnification of being.”

“that your power of commandwith simple language wasone of the magnificent things ofour century.(from the poem: result)”

“And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. ”

“I have defined poetry as a ‘passionate pursuit of the Real.”

“Here is Menard’s own intimate forest: ‘Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade…I live in great density…Shelter lures me. I slump down into the thick foliage…In the forest, I am my entire self. Everything is possible in my heart just as it is in the hiding places in ravines. Thickly wooded distance separates me from moral codes and cities.”

“The poets are supposed to liberate the words – not chain them in phrases. Who told the poets they were supposed to think? Poets are meant to sing and to make words sing. Writers don’t own their words. Since when do words belong to anybody? ‘Your very own words,’ indeed! And who are you?”

“Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! ”

“This is the creature there has never been.They never knew it, and yet, none the less,they loved the way it moved, its suppleness,its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene.Not there, because they loved it, it behavedas though it were. They always left some space.And in that clear unpeopled space they savedit lightly reared its head, with scarce a traceof not being there. They fed it, not with corn,but only with the possibilityof being. And that was able to confersuch strength, its brow put forth a horn. One horn.Whitely it stole up to a maid – to bewithin the silver mirror and in her.”

“In this quiet place on a quiet streetwhere no one ever finds usgently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain.–from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet Street”

“The very essence of I is being killed by You.”

“And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth’s noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night”