Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
We have to learn how to live with our frailties. The best people I know are inadequate and unashamed.
Sometimes when I am writing, I am aware of a rhythm, a dance, a fury, which is as yet empty of words.
Define the limits of your vision: Having this, you will not be poorer Than a man who rules a dukedom.
Don't compare yourself to anyone. Be happy to be the wonder unique, very special person that you are.
When you are insane, you are busy being insane-all the time ... when I was crazy, that was all I was.
If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.
The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.
I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
I have the one person I could ever love in this world. Now I must work to be a person worthy of that.
Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?
I inhabit the wax image of myself, a doll's body. Sickness begins here; I am a dartboard for witches.
What’s writing really about? It’s about trying to take fuller possession of the reality of your life.
Fortune loves to give bedroom slippers to people with wooden legs, and gloves to those with no hands.
If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell, And the crier rung his bell, What would you buy?
The job of the artist is not to resolve or beautify, but to hold complexities, to see and make clear.
Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sat lovers without conflict, without flame
Any time a body goes outside the environmental conditions for which it developed it has to acclimate.
Scrape the surface of language, and you will behold interstellar space and the skin that encloses it.
There is one thing stronger than all the armies in the world, and that is an idea whose time as come.
Nature has made a pebble and a female. The lapidary makes the diamond, and the lover makes the woman.
The tomb is not a blind alley: it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight. It opens on the dawn.
The most beautiful of altars, he said, is the soul of an unhappy creature consoled and thankfing God.
Why worry about what threatens our heads or purses? Let us think instead of what threatens our souls.
Philosophy should be an energy; it should find its aim and its effect in the amelioration of mankind.
Live on in your blessings, your destiny's been won. But ours calls us on from one ordeal to the next.
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Maybe the bride-bed brings despair, For each an imagined image brings And finds a real image there...
No art can conquer the people alone-the people are conquered by an ideal of life upheld by authority.
There's nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made of words.
Being an art form, verse cannot be "free" in the sense of having no limitations or guiding principle.
Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.
If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Give me a bowl of wine. I have not that alacrity of spirit Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.
I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.
My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.
So may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain, And die with grieving.
World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.
Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
Let us be careful to distinguish modesty, which is ever amiable, from reserve, which is only prudent.
For the next inn he spurs amain, In haste alights, and skuds away, But time and tide for no man stay.