Quotes About Poetry

If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, - Angels alone that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...

I am certain, my love, that poetry was born only after your birth.

Lollypop...the passion contained merely kissesplaced upon lips, neck and cheekthese young lovers of the castleof which our fairytale speaks...

They want to knowwho I write these poems for.Tell them it's for all loversbecause I don't see a differencebetween our loveand their love.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my love into.Here, Drink!

I got so strongly addicted to love that I may not be able to breath without it. I fall so fondly in love with poetry that I read it in my dreams often and even unknowingly.

In this storyI am the poetYou're the poetry.

I wonderif you ever read my poemsand wish they were writtenfor you.

Everywhere I go, your beauty spills into my day. The trees were never this verdant. The birdsong never this sweet.

You are lovelier than all the roses in the world.

You just wait.Soon, lovers all over the worldwill be reciting poems dedicated to you.This is my promise.

99% of natural poets discovered their talents through love letters.

he placed his handson my mindbefore reachingfor my waistmy hipsor my lipshe didn't call mebeautiful firsthe called meexquisite - how he touches me

Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.

After all these years, all I know is, I need not to do anything as a part of remorse.All I need is to write.Because, 'Poetry forgives.

be the kiss in my hairthat no one seesmove, when i movesigh, when i sigh...be that line from a poemthat i hold in my eyes.

You made a poet fall in love with the world.

Soulful love, is poetry in motion. A contemplation of beauty from the deep arises and the mere struggle to express the rapture of the soul.

You were a rhyme who mattered, a being who slipped all too often.

Real poetry is art at its purest sense. It is never a commodity, but a breath of eternity.

Nurtured by negative circumstances, braiding raging tornadoes in her hair, she held her head high, wearing her weathered poetry with pride.

They call it poetry, what she feels with her mouth closed. By his.

My dear poetry, There's a likenessbetween your eyes and the stars–the same charming brilliance, my eyes have ever laid upon.