Quotes About Poet

Don't even get me started on James Baldwin!" Esteban wailed. "The man . . . the prophet . . . the poet laureate who wrote the liturgy of his entire race, and his people won't celebrate his queer spirit!

After the war, Lee described Traveller in a letter:Fine proportions, muscular figure, deep chest, short back, strong haunches, flat legs, small head, broad forehead, deliciate ears,quick eye, small feet and black mane and tail. Such a picture would inspire a poet, whose genius would then depict his worth and describe his endurance of toil,hunger,thirst,heat and cold, and the dangers and sufferings through which he passed.

I'm a poet,' the young man said, 'And it's my job to remember the sadness of things.

To a poet, silence is an acceptable response, even a flattering one.

I too am a poet who has found some favour with the Muse. I too have written songs. I too have heard the shepherds call me bard. But I take it from them with a grain of salt: I have the feeling that I cannot yet compare with Varius or Cinna, but cackle like a goose among melodious swans.

I am that poet who in times past made the light melody of pastoral poetry. In my next poem I left the woods for the adjacent farmlands, teaching them to obey even the most exacting tillers of the soil; and the farmers liked my work. But now I turn to the terrible strife of Mars.

For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on top of St. Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet.

Books, she thought, grew of themselves. She never had time to read them. Alas! even the books that had been given her, and inscribed by the hand of the poet himself: 'For her whose wishes must be obeyed' ... 'The happier Helen of our day' ... disgraceful to say, she had never read them.

Chi mai potrà misurare il fervore e la violenza del cuore di un poeta quando rimane preso e intrappolato in un corpo di donna?

For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on the top of St Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet. A poet is Atlantic and lion in one. While one drowns us the other gnaws us. If we survive the teeth, we succumb to the waves. A man who can destroy illusions is both beast and flood.

The poet was forced to be passionate or bitter, unless indeed he chose to "hate women," which meant more often than not that he was unattractive to them.

For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on the top of St Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet

The subject of autobiography is always self-definition, but it cannot be self-definition in a void. The memoirist, like the poet and the novelist, must engage with the world, because engagement makes experience, experience makes wisdom, and finally it's the wisdom—or rather the movement towards it—that counts.

A writer should have the precision of a poet and the imagination of a scientist.

A poet's purified truth can cause no pain, no offense. True art is above false honor.

If told I am a bad poet, I smile; but if told I am a poor scholar, I reach for my heaviest dictionary.

I clearly understand, first, that the real human being is a poet and, second, that [the tyrant] is the incarnate negation of a poet.

It had lasted no more than four days—four days which were perhaps the happiest days of his life. But now he had exhausted his memories, was sated by them, and the image of Mary, together with that of the old dying poet, now remained in the house of ghosts, which itself was already a memory. Other than that image no Mary existed, nor could exist.

the moon stood watch over the familiar statue of a poet that looked like a snowman

I'm in love with you Renata. I know I'm not a poet – shit, not even close. I don't have all the fancy words I wish I could say to you … but I want you to know that what I'm feeling for you is real. I love you.

The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.

The poet is like the prince of the cloudsWho haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer;Exiled on the ground in the midst of jeers,His giant wings prevent him from walking.

There exist only three beings worthy of respect the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.

The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day; But on the ground, among the hooting crowds, He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.