Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!
Suddenly, everyone wanted to talk to me, it seemed. And not about my poetry: it was my dyslexia they were most interested in.
As a poet and a teacher, I read all the time. I know I read slowly. I like reading, but I don't read any more than I have to.
With a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you; with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.
Take thou of me, sweet pillowes, sweetest bed; A chamber deafe of noise, and blind of light, A rosie garland and a weary hed.
And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!
O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain.
Love is a feeling that comes into our hearts of our own choice for neither force nor harshness can limit the heart's freedom.
Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand always already quite near its transformation.
Embrace your solitude and love it. Endure the pain it causes, and try to sing out with it. For those near to you are distant.
The creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.
The love of our own language, what is it, in fact, but the love of our country expressing itself in one particular direction?
In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity; On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
O, wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, An' foolish notion.
I don’t think any man writing can worry about what the act of writing costs him, even though at times he is very aware of it.
I cut my own hair. I got sick of barbers because they talk too much. And too much of their talk was about my hair coming out.
I think that the job of poetry, its political job, is to refresh the idea of justice, which is going dead in us all the time.
The record of poetry in the 20th century isn't all that great anyway. Most of the poets who weren't fascists were Stalinists.
But here's the sunset of a tedious day, These two asleep are; I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams - the more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.
Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,Leave off your idle pain;Seek other mistress for your minds,Love's service is in vain.
This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.
When love is not accepted move on; when love is not appreciated walk away; hopefully time will teach what real, true love is.
There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.
And he misses her Like a wind starved sail He sits knowing what direction to go But the current keeps pulling him Down river.
You've come to know the fortunate and the inauspicious stars, but you don't know whether you yourself are fortunate or lucky.
For without you, I swear, the town Has become like a prison to me. Distraction and the mountain And the desert, all I desire.
I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my youth, where are they?"--and an echo answered, "Where are they?
An orphan's curse would drag to hell, a spirit from on high; but oh! more horrible than that, is a curse in a dead man's eye!
The fair breeze blew, The white foam flew, And the forrow followed free. We were the first to ever burst into the silent sea.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.
Look directly into every mirror. Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story, and our story starts: We were here.
Opera is the original marriage of words and music, and there's a theatre element, a dramatic element. It's right up my alley.
I was studying the sky like I was an astronomer, except it was daytime and I didn't have a telescope, so I was just an idiot.
Well there were other Maharajis, so Neem Karoli Baba was his technical name, like there are a thousand Lamas called Rinpoche.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a dayspare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote.
I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry.
Here, let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true: Teachers? Teachers make a difference! Now what about you?
Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
Let us fear ourselves. Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the real murderers. The great dangers lie within ourselves.
Mankind is not a circle with a single center but an ellipse with two focal points of which facts are one and ideas the other.
I've read a lot more than most of the people that I know, except for one of my really close friends reads way more than I do.
Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.
Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.
When one looks into the window of a store which sells devotional art objects, one can't help wishing the iconoclasts had won.
Now the leaves are falling fast, Nurse's flowers will not last; Nurses to their graves are gone, And the prams go rolling on.
I do not know which to prefer - The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death, it is form, union, plan, it is eternal life, it is happiness.
Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young, / The young are beautiful--but the old are more beautiful than the young.