Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
A poem is the perfect place to celebrate imperfection and exult in the ways you fall short of being the person you want to be.
The first and most important thing a man should keep away from is not doing harm of any kind knowingly to anyone, at any time.
To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain; / Th' unfeeling for his own.
Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
The poem began with the title. Then I was annoyed by one of the occasional poetry-is-dead articles. Then I refute that notion.
Sex in space (Earth included) far exceeds our wildest imaginations, and is more than a big bang, that's for sure, it's cosmic.
There is a spectacle more grand than the sea; it is heaven; there is a spectacle more grand than heaven; it is the conscience.
A house is built of logs and stone, of tiles and posts and piers; a home is built of loving deeds that stand a thousand years.
When, like an Emir of tyrannic power, Sirius appears, and on the horizon black Bids countless stars pursue their mighty track.
...there is a point when the unfortunate and the infamous are associated and confused in a word, a mortal word, les miserables
Everything Changes. The only thing that remains immovable across the centuries and fixes the character of a people is cooking.
From beginning to end Wilde performed his life and continued to do so even after fame had taken the plot out of his own hands.
When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door.
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after.
I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, And accrue what I hear into myself...and let sound contribute toward me.
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
The war effects me less than it ought. I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.
When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded; The King dropped a tear in the Queen's ear, And all his pictures faded.
The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.
Once you attempt legislation upon religious grounds, you open the way for every kind of intolerance and religious persecution.
Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.
Now must we sing and sing the best we can, But first you must be told your character: Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain.
No man, even though he be Shakespeare, can write perfectly when his web is woven of threads that have been spun in many lands.
Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows.
I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself; O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
a girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate. but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate.
I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
My love is thine to teach; teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn. Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night-- Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about The other four in wondrous motion.
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
That's creativity in a nutshell. A messy tug-of-war with imagination to erase that feeling that nothing really matters anyway.
Each poem in becoming generates the laws by which it is generated: extensions of the laws to other poems never completely take.
When my dreams showed signs of becoming politically correct no unruly images escaping beyond borders ... then I began to wonder
What Conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do; This teach me more than Hell to shun, That more than Heav'n pursue.
In winter, when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines.
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.