Quotes About Poetry

I've forged you into stars Under the vault of my skull

Sève qui monte et fleur qui pousse, Ton enfance est une charmille : Laisse errer mes doigts dans la mousse Où le bouton de rose brille.

Podemos por ello afirmar que la enfermedad, de alguna forma, le conduce a la poesía, o prepara el camino para su total desarrollo.

Los verdaderos poemas son incendios. La poesía se propaga por todas partes, iluminando sus consumaciones con estremecimientos de placer o de agonía.

Most people picture my dog with three heads, but that is wrong, wrong, wrong. He is way cooler than that. Some poets claimed he had fifty heads and some poets called him the "hundred-headed" beast. Others described him with not only multiple heads, but with a serpent's tail, a mane of snakes, and lion's paws. Whatever. I call him awesome.

Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.

The drama is complete poetry. The ode and the epic contain it only in germ it contains both of them in a state of high development, and epitomizes both.

Maybe I am staring into a piece of paper like it is a pond, hoping one day that what looks back is not my own reflection, but my great-grandmother's face. Maybe poetry is the distance between my face and her face. Maybe it's the difference between how the moon looks in the sky and how it contorts when a mayfly travels across the pond.

What's the rush?", you said about publishing. I added: "Does the world need another competent book of poems?" Most times, we wouldn't answer our own questions because what did we know? We only knew that we couldn't scrub poetry off our bodies. And we ourselves feared the greatest death, which was writing merely competent poems.

You may as well attempt to colonise the moon with white mice as publish a volume of poetry'.

Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.

The echoes of beauty you've seen transpire, Resound through dying coals of a campfire.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

All beauty of this world is wet with the dew of tears.

She's kind of a walking poem, she's this perfect beauty...but at the same time very deep, very smart.

The Steinway piano - with its beauty and power - is the perfect medium for expressing the performer's art, drama and poetry.

Best and dearest flower that grows, / Perfect both to see and smell; / Words can never, never tell / Half the beauty of a Rose - .

Many attempts have been made by writers on art and poetry to define beauty in the abstract, to express it in the most general terms, to find some universal formula for it.

Poetry needs to be alive, unabashedly, and, for me, that entails seeing its complexity, the grit and grimness and jubilance and beauty.

For honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

Poems don't have to rhyme... Poems are about beauty and emotion; in other words poems are about feelings.