Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
And I, stepping from this skin Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces Step to you from the black car of Lethe, Pure as a baby.
My wanting to write books annihilates the original root impulse that would have me bravely and blunderingly working on them.
We know a thing by its opposite corollary; hot by having experienced cold; good by having decided what is bad; love by hate.
I am a writer... I am a genius of a writer; I have it in me. I am writing the best poems of my life; they will make my name.
This evening, I sat by an open window and read till the light was gone and the book was no more than a part of the darkness.
In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
Let others probe the mystery if they can.Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will -The right thing happens to the happy man.
There must be such a thing as a child with average ability, but you can't find a parent who will admit that it is his child.
Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands, And many friends I've met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget.
my poems covered the bare places in my childhood like the fine, new skin under a scab that hasn't yet fallen off completely.
But let's speak of art for a moment. Yes, art. I know a gentleman who makes excellent portraits. This gentleman is a camera.
Basked in the sun,listened to birds,licked off raindrops,and only in flightthe leaf saw the treeand graspedwhat it had been.
Love is a portion of the soul itself, and it is of the same nature as the celestial breathing of the atmosphere of paradise.
What's our baggage? Only vows, Happiness, and all our care, And the flower that sweetly shows Nestling lightly in your hair.
Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.
The true men of action in our time, those who transform the world, are not the politicians and statesmen, but the scientists
In addition to English, at least one ancient language, probably Greek or Hebrew, and two modern languages would be required.
The wind, Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry, Came bluntly thundering, more terrible Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
Be not dishearten'd -- Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom yet; Those who love each other shall become invincible.
Abstinence sows sand all over The ruddy limbs and flaming hair, But desire gratified Plants fruits of life and beauty there.
I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath, Comes to destroy All those antinomies Of day and night.
And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well; And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
What we admire we praise; and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
All slander must still be strangled in its birth, or time will soon conspire to make it strong enough to overcome the truth.
Most men remember obligations, but not often to be grateful; the proud are made sour by the remembrance and the vain silent.
O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!
Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.
Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?
And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.
The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows. They are polluted off'rings, more abhorred! Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
We make trifles of terrors, Ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, When we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear.
O,speak to me no more;these words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!)" — William Shakespeare "hamlet
For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
But the gray and the cold are haunted by a beauty akin to pain, by a sense of a something wanted that never will come again.
My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Critic, relent!Your hope for repentanceWill meet with disapppointment.For this is the life,Not desert tents,Not camel's milk!
Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.
Part of the public horror of sexual irregularity so-called is due to the fact that everyone knows himself essentially guilty.
It is very natural for a young friend and a young lover to think the persons they love have nothing to do but to please them.
But honest instinct comes a volunteer; Sure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit, While still too wide or short in human wit.