Quotes About Poet

The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.

Poet? jest ten który odchodzi I ten który odej?? nie mo?e

Poet? jest ten który pisze wiersze I ten który wierszy nie pisze

The poet Rumi saw clearly the relationship between our wounds and our awakening. He counseled, "Don't turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That's where the light enters you.

Je le sais désormais, en tant que lecteur, il faut faire confiance à l'auteur, au poète. Ils savent comment s'y prendre pour nous extirper de notre vie ordinaire et nous envoyer tanguer dans un autre monde dont nous n'avions même pas soupçonné l'existence. C'est ce que font les auteurs de talent. C'est ce que me fit M. Baudelaire.

Dickinson is my hero because she was a joker, because she would never explain, because as a poet she confronted pain, dread and death, and because she was capable of speaking of those matters with both levity and seriousness. She's my hero because she was a metaphysical adventurer.

The Greeks, those originators of the intellectual life, fixed for us the idea of the poet. He was a divine man; more sacred than the priest, who was at best an intermediary between men and the gods, but in the poet the god was present and spoke.

Jim, as just a spoken poet, was not that good. He needed the music behind him. He felt a security and a sense of abandon when the music existed around him.

Eugenio Montale - born in Genoa in 1896, died in Milan, 1981 - is one of the twentieth-century Europeans who has spoken most meaningfully to American and British poets.

As poet laureate, I was asked to be a spokesman for literature.

Great wine requires a mad man to grow the vine, a wise man to watch over it, a lucid poet to make it, and a lover to drink it.

Every man or woman is a potential poet or artist. Everyone has the capacity to bring to their work the dignity, purposefulness, and presence of the artist.

Ginsberg was the favourite bohemian poet of straight college boys who wanted to transgress, and of gay college boys who were not yet ready to come out.

The general welcomes Tamburlaine receiv'd,      When he arrived last upon the 1 stage,      Have made our poet pen his Second Part,      Where Death cuts off the progress of his pomp,      And murderous Fates throw all his triumphs 2 down.      But what became of fair

Well, of course one must have concentration. Courage. Self-control. That goes without saying. But more important than these, one must have... I don't know how to say it. One must be both a mathematician and a poet. As though poetry were a science; or mathematics an art. One must have an affection for proportion to play Go at all well.Ah... what Go is to philosophers and warriors, chess is to accountants and merchants.

The poet in Le Cagot had confected for himself the role of the miles gloriosus, the Falstaffian clown—but with a unique difference: his braggadocio was founded on a record of reckless, laughing courage in numberless guerrilla actions against the fascist who oppressed his people in Spain.

And so it was that the Poet, through an excess of theological refinement, was unable to satisfy his coarse carnal passion.

Le poète se mourait depuis si longtemps qu'il avait cessé de comprendre que c'était la mort. Parfois, une idée simple et forte se frayait un chemin à travers son cerveau, douloureuse et presque palpable : qu'on lui avait volé le pain qu'il avait mis sous sa tête.

Y mientras que el ensueño pertenece a todo el mundo, el delirio sólo pertenece a los poetas.

Yo soy el único poeta de este siglo.

It was said of him that he had once been for a short time in Bedlam; they had done him the honour to take him for a madman, but had set him free on discovering that he was only a poet. This story was probably not true; we have all to submit to some such legend about us.

He was trying to make it up to her, asking for forgiveness and seeking redemption all at once, sacrificing himself for her. It was a glimpse of who he'd once been, the poet her maman had fallen in love with. That man, the one before the war, might have known another way, might have found the perfect words to heal their fractured past.

The poet or the story-teller who cannot give the reader a little ghostly pleasure at times never can be either a really great writer or a great thinker.

Who would one rather be? The one who desires, or the object of desire? One's answer to this question might determine if he is meant to be a poet or something else entirely.