Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
So much destruction in modern war takes place miles and miles away from the source of the destruction, the human being who has caused it.
Imitation, if it is not forgery, is a fine thing. It stems from a generous impulse, and a realistic sense of what can and cannot be done.
Roses bloom, and then they wither; Cheeks are bright, then fade and die; Shapes of light are wafted hither, Then, like visions, hurry by.
Democracy is that form of society, no matter what its political classification, in which every man has a chance and knows that he has it.
A beggar through the world am I, From place to place I wander by. Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me, For Christ's sweet sake and charity.
Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.
The aim of the poet, or other artist, is first to make something; and it's impossible to make something out of words and not communicate.
Most of the pollution in the water already is dead animal and plant matter and building debris, ... good stagnant nursery for mosquitoes.
New York feels like sometimes it's not part of the United States. So does L.A. Chicago feels like it's a big city that's part of America.
Desire is the uneasiness a man finds in himself upon the absence of anything whose present enjoyment carries the idea of delight with it.
Modesty is silent when it would be improper to speak; the humble, without being called upon, never recollects to say anything of himself.
Our life a harp is, with unnumbered strings, And tones and symphonies; but our poor skill Some shallow notes from its great music brings.
I was too old to be a punk rocker. I was a mod, that's really the only youth tribe I ever belonged to - and even then, not for very long.
Great sins are great possessions; but levities and vanities possess us too; and men had rather part with Christ than with any possession.
For while the subjects of poetry are few and recurrent, the moods of man are infinitely various and unstable. It is the same in all arts.
Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine; It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
Discover the opinion of your enemies, which is commonly the truest; for they will give you no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.
Hmmm. I think a lot of people can write poems that are howls of anguish. I think I've probably written such things and then torn them up.
If thou of fortune be bereft, and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
Sun of my soul, thou Savior dear, It is not night if thou be near. Oh, may no earthborn cloud arise To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
Humans consist of body, mind and imagination. Our bodies are faulty, our minds untrustworthy, but our imagination has made us remarkable.
Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.
I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
A crown Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights To him who wears the regal diadem
We will create a civilization of the Mind in Cyberspace. May it be more humane and fair than the world your governments have made before.
Why so pale and wan, fond lover, Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
By and large, prisons are survivable, though hope is indeed what you need least upon entering here; a lump of sugar would be more useful.
The examples of vice at home corrupt us more quickly and easily than others, since they steal into our minds under the highest authority.
That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are wise: Her bandage hides two festering sores That once perhaps were eyes.
Good poetry is like effective prayer, it feeds the human spirit, it nourishes, it puts us in touch with forces far greater than ourselves
Marriage is that relation between man and woman in which the independence is equal, the dependence mutual, and the obligation reciprocal.
There is no power in the world like that of women ... this most potent constituency we seek to represent, and for their suffrages we sue.
Death is alive, they whispered. Death lives inside life, as bones dance within the body. Yesterday is within today. Yesterday never dies.
A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used, to utter fully human speech as possible. Powerlessness and silence go together.
Human understanding is fallible, and we see through a glass, darkly. Any religion is a shadow of God. But the shadows of God are not God.
If I were going to convert to any religion I would probably choose Catholicism because it at least has female saints and the Virgin Mary.
We are very short on organs, and the pig solution is probably a lot better than the human clone solution - though maybe not for the pigs.
O Nature, gracious mother of us all, Within thy bosom myriad secrets lie Which thou surrenderest to the patient eye That seeks and waits.
The poetry of a people comes from the deep recesses of the unconscious, the irrational and the collective body of our ancestral memories.
If every head of state and every government official spent an hour a day reading poetry we'd live in a much more humane and decent world.
There is one thing we can do, and the happiest of people are those who do it to the limit of their ability. We can be completely present.
There is no appeal from the ways of the world, which must continue on its own terms or take us all down with it into chaos and confusion.
There is a creative spirit in you desiring to be free, and you may as well get out of its way for it will give you no peace until you do.
So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing, and put your lips to the world. And live your life.
Don't we all die someday and someday comes all too soon? What will you do with your own wild, glorious chance at this thing we call life.
We all have a hungry heart, and one of the things we hunger for is happiness. So as much as I possibly could, I stayed where I was happy.
Poems can't help but be personal. Mine are certainly an accurate blueprint of the things I think about, if not a record of my daily life.