Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Three were the fates. Poverty that chains; gray drudgery that grinds the hope away, and gaping ignorance that starves the soul.
With Instagram, you're captioning a moment. Twitter is the caption without the image. Even if it's there, the words come first.
In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses. Out of a misty dream, our path emerges for a while, then closes, within a dream.
The man who fears war and squats opposing My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
No poetry that I'm aware of, however bad or glorious, has ever left somebody a worse person than they were before they read it.
Human beings are definitely changing the planet, but how much impact they are having on climate, I don't know and I don't care.
This world is for those who are born to conquer it, Not for those who dream that are able to conquer it, even if they're right.
Immortal life is something to be earned, By slow self-conquest, comradeship with Pain, And patient seeking after higher truths.
When you walk to the end of a fiction, its procedure is 1) intuitive; and 2) emotional. Its intelligence is emotional, I think.
When the dominant images of a culture are anticipatory, they "lead" social development and provide direction for social change.
Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, To the eternal sun, I render back These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure.
If thou makest a statement concerning women, lo, she shall immediately try to disprove it straightway. She goeth by contraries.
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
Surely if each one saw another's heart, There would be no commerce, No sale or bargain pass: all would disperse And live apart.
He that doth what he should not, shall feele what he would not. [He that doth what he should not shall feel what he would not.]
The meaning of a poem is in the cadences and the shape of the lines and the pulse of the thought which is given by those lines.
I think that the trivialness of life is, and personally to each one, ought to be seen to be, done away with by the Incarnation.
Paint with whatever material you please - with pipes, postage stamps, postcards or playing cards, painted paper, or newspapers.
Those of us who are locked into ineffective expressions of anger suffer as deeply as those of us who dare not get angry at all.
Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep.
O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
There is no light in earth or heaven but the cold light of stars; and the first watch of night is given to the red planet Mars.
'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites.
Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.
There are always a few such people who demand the utmost of life and yet cannot come to terms with its stupidity and crudeness.
There is also an evil report; light, indeed, and easy to raise, but difficult to carry, and still more difficult to get rid of.
Choose a subject equal to your abilities; think carefully what your shoulders may refuse, and what they are capable of bearing.
The more we deny ourselves, the more the gods supply our wants. [Lat., Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit, A dis plura feret.]
The lazy ox wishes for horse-trappings, and the steed wishes to plough. [Lat., Optat ephippia bos piger, optat arare caballus.]
You will have written exceptionally well if, by skilful arrangement of your words, you have made an ordinary one seem original.
There is a mean in all things; even virtue itself has stated limits; which not being strictly observed, it ceases to be virtue.
It is to the dead that the life comes; it is to the unloveable that the love comes; it is to the lost that the salvation comes.
It may be said that poems are in one way like icebergs: only about a third of their bulk appears above the surface of the page.
Thank God every morning when you get up that you have something to do that day, which must be done, whether you like it or not.
Freedom needs all her poets; it is they Who give her aspirations wings, And to the wiser law of music sway Her wild imaginings.
Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what's known as infinity.
It is said, that the thing you possess is worth more than two you may have in the future. The one is sure and the other is not.
Everyone calls himself a friend, but only a fool relies on it; nothing is commoner than the name, nothing rarer than the thing.
The fastidious are unfortunate: nothing can satisfy them. [Lat., Les delicats sont malheureux, Rien ne saurait les satisfaire.]
That would be the death of anyone - to recognize false hopes with a certainty. One mustn't know that. If it is offered, refuse!
The tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.
I've had a few jobs, but if you want to be a writer, you're better off getting a job that doesn't require that you do anything.
By the '80s, anything to do with punk was perceived as rancid. Me being known as the 'punk poet' meant my work and I plummeted.
But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.
When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.
Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it.
Great men are rare, poets are rarer, but the great man who is a poet, transfiguring his greatness, is the rarest of all events.