poetry

"Tears upon the dry sponge of heartdo not prove I am Promethean."

"Love's mysteries in souls do grow,But yet the body is his book."

"I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases....."

"Cheap little rhymesA cheap little tuneAre sometimes as dangerousAs a sliver of the moon."

"What can be explained is not poetry."

"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on the lonely shore,There is society, where none intrudes,By the deep sea, and music in its roar:I love not man the less, but Nature more"

"The night has a thousand eyes,And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one: Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done."

"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things."

"There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest."

"We would rather be ruined than changedWe would rather die in our dreadThan climb the cross of the momentAnd let our illusions die."

"We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time."

"To write poetry and to commit suicide, apparently so contradictory, had really been the same, attempts at escape."

"See with your soul and not your eyesbecause to dance with the beasts youmust penetrate their disguise."

"If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week."

"What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet."

"won't you celebrate with mewhat i have shaped intoa kind of life? i had no model.born in babylonboth nonwhite and womanwhat did i see to be except myself?i made it uphere on this bridge betweenstarshine and clay,my one hand holding tightmy other hand; come celebratewith me that everydaysomething has tried to kill meand has failed."

"You are ice and fire The touch of you burns my hands like snow"

"أي علم هذا الذي لم يستطع حتى الآن أن يضع أصوات من نحب في أقراص ، أو زجاجة دواء نتناولها سرًّا ، عندما نصاب بوعكة عاطفية بدون أن يدري صاحبها كم نحن نحتاجه"

"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."

"This autumn-why am I growing old?bird disappearing among clouds."