Quotes About Inspiration

We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.

Beauty crowds me till I die, Beauty, mercy have on me! But if I expire today, Let it be in sight of thee

Summer-we all have seen- A few of us-believed- A few the more aspiring Unquestionably loves... .

Beauty crowds me till I die. Emily Dickinson

Non esiste un vascello veloce come un libro per portarci in terre lontane.

In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, ? Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I. Upon an August day?

Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.

We are the only poets," Emily told Susan, "and everyone else is prose.

Did you ever read one of her Poems backward, because the plunge from the front overturned you? I sometimes (often have, many times) have - A something overtakes the Mind.

I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors –

No hay mejor fragata que un libro para llevarnos a tierras lejanas.

Read, sweet, how others strove, Till we are stouter; What they renounced, Till we are less afraid; How many times they bore The faithful witness, Till we are helped, As if a kingdom cared! Read then of faith That shone above the fagot; Clear strains of hymn The river could not drown; Brave names of men And celestial women, Passed out of record Into renown!

La speranza è la pennuta creatura Che si posa nell'anima E canta melodia senza parole E non smette mai, proprio mai

Emily Dickinson

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me— Because He's Sunrise—and I see— Therefore—Then— I love Thee—

A word is dead when it said, some say... I say it just begins to live that day.

Split the lark and you'll find the music

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all.

We turn not older with years, but newer every day.

eISBN: 9781542022064 Series

Un Mot gribouillé sans réfléchir sur une Page Peut stimuler un Å'il Quand enveloppé dans les plis de l'éternité Son Auteur Ridé reposera L'Infection se développe dans la phrase Nous pouvons inhaler le Désespoir Comme, venant du fond des Siècles, La Malaria -

Perché nasca una prateria, bastano un trifoglio, un'ape e un sogno. E se non ci sono le api e il trifoglio, può bastare anche il sogno.