Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left.
To say one is revolutionary is a little like saying one is a Zen Buddhist - if you say you are, you probably aren't.
To this hour, the great science and duty of politics is lowered by the petty leaven of small and personal advantage.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.
It is a paradox in the contemporary world that in our desire for peace we must willingly give ourselves to struggle.
Rich or poor, every child comes into the world with some imperative need of its own, which shapes its individuality.
Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
A hot wind was blowing around my head, the strands of my hair lifting and swirling in it, like ink spilled in water.
I am rather saddened at the end of a book. I think most writers find this. It's like a friend departing on a voyage.
Why is it he feels some line has been crossed, some boundary transgressed? How much is too much, how far is too far?
it's doors I'm afraid of because I can't see through them, its the door opening by itself in the wind I'm afraid of.
There may not be one Truth - there may be several truths - but saying that is not to say that reality doesn't exist.
The cynics in life are the people who are always trying to do things for people who don't want things done for them.
As a teacher you are more or less obliged to pay the same amount of attention to everything. That can wear you down.
You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.
Things take the time they take. don't worry. How many roads did St. Augustine follow before he became St. Augustine?
In poetry compromise is fatal. In action of any cooperative sort it is inevitable. The thing is to find the balance.
I don't write with this thing in the back of my head about carrying the weight of young black women on my shoulders.
The experience of poetry could bring my mother back to me. Poetry offers a different kind of solace - here on earth.
Middle-age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.
I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance, were it not for making living, which is rather a nouciance.
The sky is now indelible ink, The branches reft asunder; But you and I we do not shrink; We love the lovely thunder.
We love the kindly wind and hail, The jolly thunderbolt, We watch in glee the fairy trail Of ampere, watt, and volt.
Middle age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.
People who have what they want are fond of telling people who haven't what they want that they really don't want it.
They come to see, they come that they themselves may be seen. [Lat., Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipse.]
What is hid is unknown: for what is unknown there is no desire. [Lat., Quod latet ignotum est; ignoti nulla cupido.]
Luck affects everything. Let your hook always be cast; in the stream where you least expect it there will be a fish.
A teddy bear does not depend upon mechanics to give him the semblance of life. He is loved - and therefore he lives.
Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.
Perhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.
There is nothing so great that I fear to do it for my friend; nothing so small that I will disdain to do it for him.
The darkness is the deepening shadow of your presence; the silence a process in the metabolism of the being of love.
I really, really fear head injuries. But when people hit their heads in movies or fall down - I can't stop laughing.
Dig deep into your heart, where the answer spreads its roots in your being, and ask yourself solemnly, Must I write?
(Francis) Bacon's best known writings are his essays. They are loved for many reasons, such as their being so short.
With no companion but the constant Muse, Who sought me when I needed her ah, when Did I not need her, solitary else?
He, who for Love has undergone The worst that can befall, Is happier thousand-fold than one, Who never loved at all.
A thrush, because I'd been wrong, Burst rightly into song In a world not vague, not lonely, Not governed by me only.
Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.
How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
I waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of concealing; But, och! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling!
Nearly everybody is looking for something brave to do. I don't know why people shouldn't write poetry. That's brave.
New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return.
I'll write, because I'll give - You critics means to live; For should I not supply - The cause, the effect would die
Life begins to happen. My hoppped up husband drops his home disputes, and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes
Beware of those who are homeless by choice! You have no hold on human being whose affections are without a top-root!
Be a spot of ground where nothing is growing, where something might be planted, a seed, possibly, from the Absolute.