poetry

"In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago."

"I could be in the middle of a spiritual hurricane, my soul torn and tormented, but when I see you smile it's blue skies for miles. You give me a tsunami of emotions, and my heart is trying to find peace through crashing waves, but they always end up in a cyclone that never dies.-Jarod Kintz and Karen Quan"

"Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?"

"No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness.If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind."

"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility."

"Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure."

"We sit and talk,quietly, with long lapses of silenceand I am aware of the streamthat has no language, coursingbeneath the quiet heaven ofyour eyeswhich has no speech"

"One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing Material Place —"

"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"

"With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion."

"Sometimes he did not know if he slept or just thought about sleep."

"It is strange how often a heart must be broken Before the years can make it wise."

"Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words."

"ConnubialBecause with alarming accuracy she’d been identifying patterns I was unaware of—this tic, that tendency, like the way I've mastered the language of intimacy in order to conceal how I felt— I knew I was in danger of being terribly understood."

"No man was ever yet a great poet, without at the same time being a profound philosopher."

"...Time held me green and dyingThough I sang in my chains like the sea."

"My writing has appeared in the New Yorker and The Atlantic Monthly, though whenever the newsstand guy catches me scribbling my poetry in them, he always comes along later and erases it."

"Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be..."

"My words are the garment of what I shall never be Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy."

"The first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet."