Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valor.
Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.
By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
Deference is the most complicate, the most indirect, and the most elegant of all compliments.
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
Get to know other worlds, if only for comparison. I am near, too near for him to dream of me.
We have now seen that there is no particle of evidence for the Egyptian origin of Tarot cards.
A person without a shadow should keep out of the sun, that is the only safe and rational plan.
The suppressed lesbian I had been carrying in me since adolescence began to stretch her limbs.
For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.
Every incarnation that we remember must increase our comprehension of ourselves as who we are.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!" "See man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose.
Poets heap virtues, painters gems, at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbor with himself.
For forms of faith let graceless zealots fight; his can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!
Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain
Whether with Reason, or with Instinct blest, Know, all enjoy that pow'r which suits them best.
From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.
Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.
A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls: Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.
Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
Venus knows country matters: country knows Venus: For Love, Dione's boy, was born on the farm.
Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.
In order that knowledge be properly digested it must have been swallowed with a good appetite.
Our insanity is not that we see people who aren’t there. It’s that we ignore the ones who are.
You keep worrying you’re taking up too much space. I wish you’d let yourself be the milky way.
A page with a poem on it is less attractive than a page with a poem on it and some tea stains.
It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.
I've cancelled all my subscriptions to poetry magazines. I prefer to read the 'New Scientist.'
In a full heart there is room for everything, and in an empty heart there is room for nothing.
If the poem can be improved by the author's explanations, it never should have been published.
How dare anyone, parent, schoolteacher, or merely literary critic, tell me not to act colored.
Action will furnish belief,-but will that belief be the true one? This is the point, you know.