Prose Poetry Quotes

Prose Poetry Quote of the day

Before you came the world was prose. Now poetry is born.

Always be a poet, even in prose.

He who writes prose builds his temple to Fame in rubble; he who writes verses builds it in granite.

Prose is walking; poetry is flying

A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.

Poetry is prose in slow motion.

Prose is prose because of what it includes; poetry is poetry because of what it leaves out.

Poetry is its own medium; it's very different than writing prose. Poetry can talk in an imagistic sense; it has particular ways of catching an environment.

I've learned about marrying poetry and prose and making both accessible.

Prose on certain occasions can bear a great deal of poetry; on the other hand, poetry sinks and swoons under a moderate weight of prose.

I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose = words in their best order; - poetry = the best words in the best order.

Prose is when all the lines except the last go on to the end. Poetry is when some of them fall short of it.

Poetry is prose, bent out of shape.

Prose talks and poetry sings.

As a prose writer, I work with language; and those who work with language turn to poetry for renewal.

Prose is a photography, poetry is a painting in oil-colors.

The translator of prose is the slave of the author, and the translator of poetry is his rival.

Outside our small safe place flies mystery.

I read a lot of prose poetry and get inspired by more-so just a state of mind.

I would say that when I write prose I'm a more socially responsible person. I'm much more a citizen of the world. But the instability of the poetry, the emotional jaggedness, is also me.

Good prose is written only face to face with poetry.

Prose poetry is not set to a melody or music so there's something freeing about it.

I guess I find the boundaries between poetry and prose to be somewhat permeable.

I'd rather call prose poems something else, for clarity - something like "poetic prose," prose that contains a quality of poetry, but not poems.

Prose is in fact the museum where the dead images of verse are preserved. In 'Notes', prose is 'a museum where all the old weapons of poetry kept.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant.

Nowhere hidden has ever turned away a goodheart guest.

And perhaps, I'm a Tuesday night and you're a Wednesday morning the way we'll never even notice how we blend into each other.

Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet... And she's going to write about how she's a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.

Feelings and emotionran through my veinslike a hurricane.And that's when everythingbegan to look like poetry.—You look like poetry

I am not collarbones or drunken letters never sent. I am not the way I leave or left or didn’t know how to handle anything, at any time, and I am not your fault.

Don’t despair nowyou fell in love with the maskand not what was behindit touched the chords inside your heartand made it beatand now that you have seen behind itdon’t despair

What is this thing? trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance.

I am constantly torn between the will to be seen and still hidden so god damn well, a contradiction I never figured out.

Have trembled beneath the pressure of a light beam.

She told me there was a place on my face she wanted to inhale.

He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.

I’ll give you one chance to run, but may your shoulder always whisper in your ear…“It’s best to watch out for men, like me.

Later when they would mention, they would say, and everyone would know, but not nearly as well as they meant.

Of the many forms that silence takes, the most memorable is the dry husk of the cicada.

Embrace your inner goddess, never let go of the light you carry within.

If freedom is free and none need worry, then what blood drops for thee?

To write you into poems, and make you unerasable.

Speak without words. Know the weight of words

Time is not ours and we would not own it. It does not wound us to say so.from the prose poem INNOCENCE

We danced with the devil with demons in our heart.

I negate this distance with / what it would be / to be shining you.