Quotes About Poetry

After a full belly all is poetry.

Too many poets act like a middle-aged mother trying to get her kids to eat too much cooked meat, and potatoes with drippings (tears). I don't give a damn whether they eat or not. Forced feeding leads to excessive thinness (effete). Nobody should experience anything they don't need to, if they don't need poetry bully for them. I like the movies too. And after all, only Whitman and Crane and Williams, of the American poets, are better than the movies.

Autobiographia Literaria" When I was a child I played by myself in a corner of the schoolyard all alone. I hated dolls and I hated games, animals were not friendly and birds flew away. If anyone was looking for me I hid behind a tree and cried out "I am an orphan." And here I am, the center of all beauty! writing these poems! Imagine!

And don't worry about your lineage poetic or natural.

I dislike a great deal of contemporary poetry — all of the past you read is usually quite great — but it is a useful thorn to have in one's side.

an invitation to lunch HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? when I only have 16 cents and 2 packages of yoghurt there's a lesson in that, isn't there like in Chinese poetry when a leaf falls? hold off on the yoghurt till the very last, when everything may improve

I don't wear brown and grey suits all the time, do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera, often. I want my feet to be bare, I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--you can't plan on the heart, but the better part of it, my poetry, is open.

That's the thing with good poets. They structure and decide and re-write and insert, but some of the magic comes from a place beyond intention.

That's the thing with good poets. They structure and decide and re-write and insert, but some of the magic comes from the place beyond intention. It just falls from them like windfall fruit.

That's the thing with good poets. They structure and decide and re-write and insert, but some of the magic comes from the place beyond intention.

But in the end, the hackers were misunderstood figures. They wanted nothing more than to belong, to subsume their brilliant selves in an even more incandescent whole, to lose themselves in the poetry of community.

These are the saddest of possible words: "Tinker to Evers to Chance." Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds, Tinker and Evers and Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double– Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble: "Tinker to Evers to Chance."

Prose talks and poetry sings.

Poetry, it is often said and loudly so, is life's true mirror. But a monkey looking into a work of literature looks in vain for Socrates.

Science and art, or by the same token, poetry and prose differ from one another like a journey and an excursion. The purpose of the journey is its goal, the purpose of an excursion is the process.

Poetry is practically the only intellectual pursuit which we can be positive was highly developed and much practiced in pre-Islamic Arabia. It seems certain that the Arabic word for poet, shair, meant originally "one who knows," and the word for poetry, shir, "knowledge".

You know, in my music career there was a moment where the irony was just so heavy. There were people in my audience that were the reason I developed neuroses. These people that tortured my life were using my art, my poetry, as fuel for them, to torture other people.

When I think of Robert Frost's poems, like "The Road Not Taken", I feel the support of someone who is on my side, who understands what life's choices are like, someone who says, "I've been there, and it's okay to go on".

The great poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote: "Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart, and learn to love the questions themselves.

When I think of Robert Frost's poems, like "The Road Not Taken," I feel the support of someone who is on my side, who understands what life's choices are like, someone who says, "I've been there, and it's okay to go on.

En la tarde lluviosa mi corazon aprende la tragedia otonal que los arboles lleuven.

The dog may be wonderful prose, but only the cat is poetry.

You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.

Thus the sons of earth now drink in The fire of heaven without danger. And it is our duty, poets, to stand Bare-headed under the storms of God, Grasping with our own hand The Father's beam itself, And to offer the gift of heaven, Wrapped in song, to the people. From "As On a Holiday" ("Wie Wenn am Feiertage")