Quotes About Poetry

I don't think it's always good to read lots of poetry.

Somewhere between poetry and science, somewhere between heaven and earth, clairaudience is born. Clairaudience is the sweetest mystery any human being could ever experience. Fortunately, it is the most contagious, too. Most, if not all, of my students walk away with some level of clairaudience after spending three hours in one of my workshops.

God, she was beautiful - my first image of the Orient - a woman such as only the desert poet knew how to praise: her face was the sun, her hair the protecting shadow, her eyes fountains of cool water, her body the most slender of palm-trees and her smile a mirage.

Do you know what fascinates me about science? It is that I have found the supreme poetry: the intoxicating giddiness of numbers in mathematics and the mysterious murmur of the universe in astronomy.

People will remember what they have destroyed of others' theories, but the theories they construct themselves will inevitably be destroyed and even ridiculed by those who come after. That is the law of science. Poetry does not have a similar law. It never negates what has come before it and is never negated by what follows. Poetry lives in complete calm through the centuries.

I thought your boyfriend died?" Nicky asked, and it was actually a good question, and I was so mad that I wasn't even embarrassed to answer him. "We were three," I choked out. "I had a night lover and a day lover," I said, and it felt like poetry, just to say it there in public in the middle of the quad, under the foggy sun. "And they loved each other like night loves the day. And then the night lover died, and the day lover and I were naked in the sunshine, with only ourselves for cover.

It was mindless, it was mechanical, it was Emily Dickinson's poetry, where the secrets of the universe were encapsulated in body and motion, sweat and breath, physicality and physics,

Fragment" What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake.

Wing'd with a Drunken Excellence.

Great courage was required to engage in such an adventure. But George was in love and Freeheart was faithful. And as the most delightful of poets says "What cannot Friendship guided by sweet Love?

Science neither cares to please nor to displease. She is inhuman. It is not science but poetry that charms and consoles. And that is why poetry is more necessary than science.

La poésie se fait dans un lit comme l'amour Ses draps défaits sont l'aurore des choses (English) Poetry is made in bed like love Its unmade sheets are the dawn of things

I love you on the surface of seas Red like the egg when it is green

El abrazo poético, como el abrazo carnal, mientras dura, prohíbe toda caída en la miseria del mundo.

The act of love and the act of poetry Are not compatible With the reading aloud of a newspaper

The exquisite corpse will drink the young wine. (Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau.)

L'Amour, la Poésie, c'est par ce seul ressort que la pensée humaine parviendra à reprendre le large.

Je ne nie pas que l'amour ait maille à partir avec la vie. Je dis qu'il doit vaincre et pour cela s'être élevé à une telle conscience poétique de lui-même que tout ce qu'il rencontre nécessairement d'hostile se fonde au foyer de sa propre gloire.

Gene de ufak tefek üstünlüklerim vard?r... Ço?u kad?nlardan daha fazla kitap okurum... Birçok güzel ?iiri ezbere bilirim... Çiçek yeti?tirmesini bilirim... ?yi giyinirim... Bir de sizi severim, evet beyefendi, siz belki de inanmazs?n?z, ama çok severim sizi.

That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.

Poetry is again hip in America as people are beginning to refuse to die of boredom and to choke in the fog of their funny money.

Eugene Sue's The Mysteries of Paris, a brilliant reenvisioning of one's own city as an exotic locale. Sue, who was too poor to travel, turned an awed gaze to the familiar and gave his readers a city they would recognize but which hid a poetry far from the familiar.

Money undergoes a conversion when one has more of it than is strictly necessary. When there is enough of it to move beyond the strict survival mode, money goes in search of beauty. That is to say, in search of the abstract and the imaginary. Just like poetry, which is the distillation of an excess of language. Too much money and too many words tend toward the poetic.

Poetry is an awareness of the world, a particular way of relating to reality.