poetry

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

"To risk life to save a smile on a face of a woman or a child is the secret of chivalry."

"Lovers find secret placesinside this violent worldwhere they make transactions with beauty."

"I sang in my chains like the sea"

"Our state cannot be severed, we are one,One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself."

"I never dreamed the sea so deep,The earth so dark; so long my sleep,I have become another child.I wake to see the world go wild."

"Stars open among the lilies.Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?This is the silence of astounded souls."

"You should always be trying to write a poem you are unable to write, a poem you lack the technique, the language, the courage to achieve. Otherwise you're merely imitating yourself, going nowhere, because that's always easiest."

"I am two fools, I know,For loving, and for saying so."

"Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other."

"Self love is an oceanand your heart is a vessel. Make it full,and any excess will spill overinto the lives of the peopleyou hold dear. But you must come first."

"I really don't know what "I love you"means.I think it means "Don't leave me here alone."

"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"

"I do not know which to prefer,The beauty of inflectionsOr the beauty of innuendosThe blackbird whistlingOr just after."

"Wordplay hides a key to reality that the dictionary tries in vain to lock inside every free word."

"But some nights, I must tell you,I go down there after everyone has fallen asleep.I swim back and forth in the echoing blackness.I sing a love song as well as I can,lost for a while in the home of the rain."

"You give but little when you give of your possessions.It is when you give of yourself that you truly give."

"Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake."

"Isn’t it time that these most ancient sorrows of ours grew fruitful? Time that we tenderly loosed ourselves from the loved one, and, unsteadily, survived: the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string to be more than itself. For abiding is nowhere."

"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?"