Quotes About Poetry

Who writes poetry imbibes honey from the poisoned lips of life.

Poetry was one of the things that interested me most as I was growing up. I used to write it in my head all the time. I still think the very greatest pleasure in life is to write a poem.

Poetry carries the imagery which is large enough for the kind of life we want for ourselves.

I began my writing life as a poet, so poetry has always been fundamental. I evolved from poetry to journalism to stories to novels. But poetry was always there.

Poetry is at the centre of my life, too, emotionally speaking, and intellectually speaking - it's just that I'm one of those people who enjoy doing other stuff as well.

You don't help people in your poems. I've been trying to help people all my life - that's my trouble.

A beautiful poem is nothing but a mirror of philosophy through which we can see life's pure beauty.

I could feel it--inside, and I decided that night, reading poetry beneath a caged light bulb, that real was when you could fee your whole body light up from within.

You didn't understand the poem, but that was because it wasn't for you. It was for me to understand the pain you put me through.

While he sweated out a story she bled put a poem. (Dark City Lights)

even in death, his last breath was poetryexisting in the wind and on the breeze of"it used to be likes" forever remembering, yet never relivinghis lifewill never be what it used to be like.

I'm a poet, and I spent my life in poetry.

In my life, I've seen enormous increase in the consumption of poetry. When I was young, there were virtually no poetry readings.

What a strange thing!to be alivebeneath cherry blossoms.

sometimes i wake upin the middleof the nightand findpoetry splatteredall over my bed.

My relationship stays strong because I serenade her with my actions and I write poetry in her heart with my deeds. My endless love is expressed with more than just my words

It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.

He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.

My unpremeditated verse.

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.

Sabrina fair,Listen where thou art sittingUnder the glassy, cool, translucent wave,In twisted braids of lilies knittingThe loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;Listen for dear honor's sake,Goddess of the silver lake,Listen and save.

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,Most musical, most melancholy!

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

Ornate rhetoric taught out of the rule of Plato…. To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.