Browsing Topic Best Poetry Quotes

We loved with a love that was more than love.

Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart.

Create childish words. Commingle what you feel with determined, mesmerizing, musical voices whispering cry smile wonder.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.

Wine is bottled poetry.

The words ‘I Love You’ kill, and resurrect millions, in less than a second.

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.

I am looking for a poem that says Everything so I don’t have to write anymore.

Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

Between my head and my heart I found peace with the unacceptable.

We are made of all those who have built and broken us.

In my opinion, the trombone is the true head of the family of wind instruments, which I have named the ‘epic’ one. It possesses nobility and grandeur to the highest degree; it has all the serious and powerful tones of sublime musical poetry, from religious, calm and imposing accents to savage, orgiastic outburst. Directed by the will of the master, the trombones can chant like a choir of priests, threaten, utter gloomy sighs, a mournful lament, or a bright hymn of glory; they can break forth into awe-inspiring cries and awaken the dead or doom the living with their fearful voices.

No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem.

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.

Carpe diem! Rejoice while you are alive; enjoy the day; live life to the fullest; make the most of what you have. It is later than you think.

Her happiness floated like waves of ocean along the coast of her life. She found lyrics of her life in his arms but she never sung her song.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.

I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

How poetry comes to the poet is a mystery.

Criticism is infested with the cant of materialism, which assumes that manual skill and activity is the first merit of all men, and disparages such as say and do not, overlooking the fact, that some men, namely, poets, are natural sayers, sent into the world to the end of expression, and confounds them with those whose province is action, but who quit to imitate the sayers.

I’m not lookin’ for someone who can save me. Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I’ve got places I wanna go. So break me in two, peel back my rib cage and cover every page of my heart with love poems you will burn someday.

Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.

… My soul sings loudly, forever changed by love Crafting oceans of majestic pain But releasing every storm from within Feeling exhausted, but safe and blessed … (Excerpted from Healed by rain, chapter Resilience)

… I’ll pray to God to give me strength and patience I’ll feel no pain, no vengeance, no regrets And I will learn to love again…myself, this time. … (Excerpted from My kind of resilience, chapter Resilience)

But I was young and didn’t know better and someone should have told me to capture every second every kiss & every night Because now I’m sitting here alone and it’s getting really hard to breath because tears are growing in my throat and they want to break out, but there are people watching and I just want to be somewhere silent somewhere still But still I don’t want to be alone because I’m scared and lonely and I don’t understand Because I was alone my whole life My whole life I was so damn lonely and I was content with that because I liked myself and my own company and I didn’t need anyone I thought But then there was you .. … So, someone should have told me that love is for those few brave who can handle the unbearable emptiness, the unbearable guilt and lack of oneself, Because I lost myself to someone I love and I might get myself back one day but it will take time, it will take time. This is gonna take some time. I wish someone would have told me this. Someone should have told me this.

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

To those who abuse: the sin is yours, the crime is yours, and the shame is yours. To those who protect the perpetrators: blaming the victims only masks the evil within, making you as guilty as those who abuse. Stand up for the innocent or go down with the rest.

There is no man more complete than the one who travelled a lot, who changed the shape of his thoughts and his life twenty times.

Poetry’s role is to provide spontaneous individual candor as distinct from manipulation and brainwash.