Poet Quotes
Music resembles poetry, in eachAre nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.
I wait on my fix:I am a poetry junkie.
A poet, you see, is a light thing, and winged and holy, and cannot compose before he gets inspiration and loses control of his senses and his reason has deserted him.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all parts, that is, the poet.
How are his poems?""He's not as good as he thinks he is, but then most of us feel that way.
OnceThere was a quiet island, With a name.You must believe me When I say that sunlight, Impure but beautiful, Broke upon the bay, silveredThe unrepentant, burning moon.
A poet often lives in an enchanted land where he sees things not with his eyes but with his feelings.
A poet is an artist that paints pictures by mixing thought, imagination, and emotion with words.
A poet is not an inventor. A poet is a player that plays with words on the field of human imagination to excite a reader’s mind with the colors of emotion.
My words are my children. I am eternally grateful to the womb of my mind for conceiving them.
To my way of thinking the function of the poet is to make us aware of what we know and don't know we know.
True beauty is measured by the number of pearls within you, not those around your neck.
Without sound, There would be no music.And without music, There would be no life.And without a life force, There would be no matter.But it does not matter -Because what is matter, If there is no light?
I was transformed the dayMy ego shattered, And all the superficial, materialThings that matteredTo me before, Suddenly ceasedTo matter.
it was dawning on me how uphill a poet's path was, and I confessed to her that if I had to be the choice between being happy or being a poet, I'd choose to be happy.
Fate would never permit happiness to a man of such talent-a content poet is a mediocre one, a happy poet is insufferable.
He wanted to be a poet, ' someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. 'Said he'd only lacked the words to be one.
Let it shine, the light in you. Oh, and that's delighting me! Various colors shining through. Elated, it fills my soul with ecstasy.
And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth's noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night
I don't write about you because you don't deserve to be immortalised in my words.I'll leave you to float around in my mind until forgetfulness comes to take you away.
The only way to find art is to lose touch with reality.
Poetry is an art of expressing the unknown music of our inner feelings and emotions in our known language.
We cannot see the best things in life, we can only feel them. A poet tries to describe those indescribable feelings in a language of emotions and inner perceptions.
A poet is an unpaid laborer of a mine where he digs into the mountain to find rough diamonds. He then polishes them with his imagination and emotion to share with everyone.
Poetry is an art of telling the poet’s own truth my bending and twisting it with his or her own emotional bulldozer.
I became an artist because I wanted to be an active participant in the conversation about art.
She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.
If you write then you are reborn because by writing about the moment, you can relive it for a second time.
If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction
She lends her pen, to thoughts of him, that flow from it, in her solitary.For she is his poet, And he is her poetry.
I do not write to you, but of you, /because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.
we want it visible to showwhen even the most visible joy will reveal itselfonly when we have transformed it within.there’s nowhere, my love, the world can existexpect within.
Then you are a poet?' she asked, fingering the flyer in her pocket.'No not at all, ' he waved his hand. 'I am merely a character in a poem.
ONE WORDOne word— one stonein a cold river.One more stone—I'll need many stonesif I'm going to get over.
No thought is a stupid thought, those who are thoughtless are thought of as stupid.
Logic, when applied to people, fails miserably!
Without the wetness of your love, the fragrance of your water, or the trickling sounds of your voice ― I shall always feel thirsty.