Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
No ideas but in things.
A new music is a new mind.
When I am alone I am happy.
A new world is only a new mind.
Empty pockets make empty heads.
In summer, the song sings itself.
Nothing whips my blood like verse.
What power has love but forgiveness?
That which is possible is inevitable.
The pure products of America go crazy
Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.
Death will be too late to bring us aid.
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow
If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.
A poem is a small machine made of words.
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Time is a storm in which we are all lost.
Without invention nothing is well-spaced.
The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned
History must stay open, it is all humanity.
A poem is a small machine made out of words.
Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
The only realism in art is of the imagination.
But the sea which no one tends is also a garden
Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.
History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
It is not fair to be old, to put on a brown sweater.
I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.
The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.
We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge
I have never been one to write by rule, not even by my own rules.
So different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field.
I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.
All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.
Love is that common tone shall raise his fiery head and sound his note.
The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.
As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
Among of green stiff old bright broken branch come white sweet May again
Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.
Liquor and love rescue the cloudy sense banish its despair give it a home.
Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.
Everyone in this life is defeated but a man, if he be a man, is not defeated.
The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
No opinion can be trusted; even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
Most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them