Quotes About Poetry

Cuando la ciencia todavía soñaba, la poesía ya actuaba

I perceived at the end of a certain time, that I lacked something in every direction; and seeing that I was good for nothing, of my own free will I became a poet and rhymester. That is a trade which one can always adopt when one is a vagabond, and it's better than stealing, as some young brigands of my acquaintance advised me to do.

en de certains lieux, en de certains heures regarder la mer est un poision.

Isabelle knew the volume. Les Fleurs du mal. The Flowers of Evil. It was the book they used to signal a meeting. "I am looking for something else by this author," Anouk said, exhaling smoke. "I am sorry, Madame. I have no more Baudelaire. Some Verlaine, perhaps? Or Rimbaud?

The poems were cool. The best ones were like bombs, and when all the right words came together it was like an explosion.

I'm the blues in your left thigh/ Trying to become the funk in your right." -LORENZ TATE/LOVE JONES SOUNDTRACK

The greatest poem is not that which is most skillfully constructed, but that in which there is the most poetry.

From 1909 to 1914, Lovecraft turned from adolescent to adult; but his life during this period is an almost utter blank. Apparently he sat at home, day after day, staying up most of the night and in bed all morning, reading voraciously, writing reams of Georgian poetry, and doing little else.

Wherever her feet pass, white flowers part the grass.

Some people pretend they never were in love and never wrote poetry; two weaknesses which they dare not own -- one of the heart, the other of the mind.

The subject of Finnish poetry ought to have a special interest for the Japanese student, if only for the reason that Finnish poetry comes more closely in many respects to Japanese poetry than any other form of Western poetry.

There is one type of ideal woman very seldom described in poetry - the old maid, the woman whom sorrow or misfortune prevents from fulfilling her natural destiny.

It is true that short forms of poetry have been cultivated in the Far East more than in modern Europe but in all European literature short forms of poetry are to be found - indeed quite as short as anything in Japanese.

But every great scripture, whether Hebrew, Indian, Persian, or Chinese, apart from its religious value will be found to have some rare and special beauty of its own and in this respect the original Bible stands very high as a monument of sublime poetry and of artistic prose.

I often imagine that the longer he studies English literature the more the Japanese student must be astonished at the extraordinary predominance given to the passion of love both in fiction and in poetry.

Whoever pretends not to believe in ghosts of any sort, lies to his own heart. Every man is haunted by ghosts... thought most of us (poets excepted) are unwilling to confess the acquaintance.

Then again she wept aloud,– so bitterly that the voice of her crying pierced into the marrow of the listener's bones; – and she sobbed out the words of this poem:– Hi kurureba Sasoeshi mono wo – Akanuma no Makomo no kure no Hitori-ne zo uki! ("At the coming of twilight I invited him to return with me –! Now to sleep alone in the shadow of the rushes of Akanuma – ah! what misery unspeakable!")

My tears fall inward on my heart, And, dew-like, keep its memories green: Sad strains, unheard by other ears, Break forth for me from lips unseen.

This must be what feelings are. This is why people write poems! I get it now. I get it, and I want more.

Creamy and leggy, with long azure hair and the eyes of a silent-movie star, she moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx.

My face responds without authorization from my brain, so the resulting smile feels like the biggest, most unguarded, goofiest smile I've ever unleashed in my entire life. I didn't even know my face could do this. It's like there were hidden zippers in my cheeks. Jesus. This must be what feelings are. This is why people write poems! I get it now. I get it, and I want more.

He moved through his mind with the assuredness of an explorer and the grace of a poet.

Karou was, simply, lovely. Creamy and leggy, with long azure hair and the eyes of a silent-movie star, she moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx. Beyond merely pretty, her face was vibrantly alive, her gaze always sparking and luminous, and she had a birdlike way of cocking her head, her lips pressed together while her dark eyes danced, that hinted at secrets and mysteries.

I didn't even know my face could do this. It's like there were hidden zippers in my cheeks. Jesus. This must be what feelings are. This is why people write poems! I get it now. I get it, and I want more.