Quotes About Creativity

A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

Poetry is never abandoned, it is only remixed.

A poet is a reporter, interviewing his own heart.

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. The love of language is either itself a poetic gift or a symptom of it.

A poet is a flaming phoenix — burnt up with each and every poem.

A poet trains himself to stand out in a storm and be struck by lightning. If he is lucky enough to be struck six times, he becomes immortal. Randall Jarrell said it, and he's right.

A poet is inmate, and warden, to his own mind.

And the poet out-argues Nature.

Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the color of the wind.

A poem is a carefully gathered bucket of stars.

To thee Come I, a poet, hereward haply blown, From out another worldflower lately flown. Wilt ask, What profit e'er a poet brings? He beareth starry stuff about his wings...

A poet builds his nest in the springtime tree of wild reverie, and ends up staying the year.

A poet is the mocking-bird of the spiritual universe. In him are collected all the individual songs of all individual natures.

My poetry, I should think, has become the way of my giving out what music is within me.

A poem compresses much in a tight space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning.

Inner thought: it is easier to make rhymes on a train; the lines come out the right length because the wheel clicks never miss their count. Idea: if we were a poet we would spend all our time on trains.

There is no vagrant notion in your nature that poetry does not encourage.

Re Ezra Pound — poetry happens to be an art ;and artists happen to be human beings.

Prose is a photograph, poetry a painting in oil-colors.

By poetry we mean the art of employing words in such a manner as to produce an illusion on the imagination, the art of doing by means of words what the painter does by means of colours.

A poet swallows life and exhales painted words.

A poet rips his flesh on the thorn of language and bleeds raw ink onto paper petals.

I bleed words, Ink drops, and Poetry merges— Blackish-crimson Autobiography

Now to form the complete poet, neither heart only, nor head only, is sufficient: the complete poet must have a heart in his brain, or a brain in his heart. Such was Shakspeare, complete because he had both, and supreme because he had both to the highest degree.