Poems Quotes - Page 4

Where Do You Show Up to Share What You Have to Offer?When You Love What You Do-You Share It Daily

i want so much to touch youwhere my hands cannot.

To be human is to be broken and broken is its own kind of beautiful.

We are all born free and spend a lifetime becoming slaves to our own false truths.

Wherever I go, I meet myself.

When one does not die for the other, then we are already dead_

...I fell asleep and had a dream that a king was liquidated by a group of kind faces....

Ourchestra:So you haven't got a drum, just beat your belly.So I haven't got a horn-I'll play my nose.So we haven't any cymbals-We'll just slap our hands together,And though there may be orchestrasThat sound a little betterWith their fancy shiny instrumentsThat cost an awful lot-Hey, we're making music twice as goodBy playing what we've got!

A few drinks and the world was hers— she wore her whiskey like a loaded gun.

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.

LIFE IS A JOURNEYTO FIND THE PEOPLEWEIRD LIKE YOU. —ATTICUS

I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue

Don't ask creator to guide your footsteps if you're not willing to move your feet.

I arrived, I saw humans and I saw through their faces. Nothing ever changes but the light in their eyes. For I too have buried my demons today, without knowing what might remain beneath the face of tomorrow.

it is hard not to count the hoursi have left with you.it is hard to be here now--knowing everything between uswill come to an end.

The burning off and the gathering together are one.

Turning and turning in the widening gyreThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhereThe ceremony of innocence is drowned;The best lack all conviction, while the worstAre full of passionate intensity.

some people are so deepyou fall into themand you never stop falling.

When I Read the Book"When I read the book, the biography famous, And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man's life? And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life? (As if any man really knew aught of my life,Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to trace out here.)

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible the world has written its own.

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

LOVE the hideous in order to find the sublime core of it.

The heart, I think, which is the home of all things rhythmic, is where learned poems go to live.

It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.

She walkedthrough her lifeheavyfrom themighty wingsupon her back.

She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.

It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me.