Now Leroux, what think youOf this twist to the story?

The way we are living,timorous or bold,will have been our life.

down with hell and heaven and all the religious fussinfinity pleased our parents one inch looks good to us

O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start;You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart.

What seems real one moment is fiction the nextand gone out of existence the moment after that.Nostalgia is the greatest enemy of truth,and change our only constancy.

The season was waning fastOur nights were growing cold at lastI took her to bed with silk and song,’Lay still, my love, I won’t be long;I must prepare my body for passion.”O, your body you...

The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

He had been searching for it his entire life. He had devoted himself to poetry to find it. Now, in the middle of his life, he found it. It was in the face of the...

There’s in my mind a…turbulent moon-ridden girlor old woman, or both,dressed in opals and rags, feathersand torn taffeta,who knows strange songsbut she is not kind.

SOUL SHINEYou know that thingYou do so well,That little sparkYou hideIn the dark,That you thinkNobodyKnowsAboutButYou?Well,Did you knowThatThere’sA sheenThat you beam,When you talkOr doAnything,That everyoneKnowsAboutButYou?

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them… In the corner of my dark soul Her passion is dark like a kohl She is giving new meaning to these...

You own me with whispers like poetry.Your mouth is a melody I memorize.

Some have won a wild delight,By daring wilder sorrow;Could I gain thy love to-night,I’d hazard death to-morrow.

Every angel is terrifying.

Here they have no time for the fine gracesof poetry, unless it freely growsin deep compulsion, like water in the well,woven into the texture of the soilin a strong pattern.

I live my life in growing orbits which move out over the things of the world.

Is there any reward?I’m beginning to doubt it.I am broken and bored,Is there any rewardReassure me, Good Lord,And inform me about it.Is there any reward?I’m beginning to doubt it.

A Robin Redbreast in a CagePuts all Heaven in a Rage.A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeonsShudders Hell thro’ all its regions.A Dog starv’d at his Master’s GatePredicts the ruin of the State.A Horse...

Let me tell you something about meditation. At the absolute center, is the vortex we are spun from like clay, there is a shaping hand which is neither Godlike nor peaceful as you imagine.

Football is the poetry of a motion.

Spilling a Secret What its size, will have varying consequences. It’s not possible to predict what will happen if you open the gunnysack, let the cat escape. A liberated feline might purr on your lap,...

If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.

Once, poets were magicians. Poets were strong, stronger than warriors or kings — stronger than old hapless gods. And they will be strong once again.

Und wenn mir nachts die Sonne scheintist niemand dader mit mir weint

I’m sorry to hear you’re jobless.” I need to network with people who encounter letters on a daily basis in math equations, not romantic poetry.

I will not impress you with words, I will prove to you their definition. It’s a genuine vocabulary.

No matter how you are taught by your teacher about how to recite a poem, it is impossible to wear your teacher’s smiling face to the stage. You got to change your own face into...

Ask him why there are hypocrites in the world.”Because it is hard to bear the happiness of others.”When are we happy?”When we desire nothing and realize that possession is only momentary, and so are forever...

You can save many lives but the most courageous act is to save your authentic-self.

I am terrified by this dark thingThat sleeps in me;All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Even the simplest poemMay destroy your immunity to human emotions.All poems must carry a Government warning. WordsCan seriously affect your heart.

The Mississippi and its paddle boats, and the rivers of Bengal and their gleaming steamers evoked a similar atmosphere of romance, of long, song-filled voyages, high winds and lonely sunsets.

L’artGreen arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth, Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.

Poetry is the essence and evidence of life.

He who does not know how to encircle a girl so that she loses sight of everything he does not want her to see, he who does not know how to poetize himself into a...

Nothing fills the world quite as poetry does. A poet need not dwell on the pagecount of his life.

Me too thy nobleness has taughtTo master my despair;The fountains of my hidden lifeAre through thy friendship fair.

Our Mother feedeth thus our little life, That we may in turn feed her with our death

Demander à la poésie du sentimentalisme … ce n’est pas ça. Des mots rayonnants, des mots de lumière … avec un rythme et une musique, voilà ce que c’est, la poésie.

I didn’t know till then the stars, in flakesof snow come down to fuck the earth, the lake.

A friend is a companion for the journey,never a means to our own.What we take we take together,the joy we reap, we have sown.

If I ever see an alien fishing in Scotland, and witness it catching the Loch Ness Monster, I’d probably assume the world would want me to write a poem about the event, rather than take...

There are three lessons I would write-Three words, as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light,Upon the heart of men.Have hope! though clouds environ round,And gladness hides her face in scorn,Put thou the...

I know you . . .That you hold insideVast possibilities and dreamsAnd limitless love.

Poetry must be as new as foam and as old as the rock.

The children walk away from me, flick flickety off at a tangent between thin blotched beech trunks, then turn like yo-yos at the end of their strings and come back to me” from the poem...

We returned to our palaces, these Kingdoms, but no longer at ease here in the old dispensation, with an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death.

A charm invests a faceImperfectly beheld,—The lady dare not lift her veilFor fear it be dispelled.But peers beyond her mesh,And wishes, and denies,—Lest interview annul a wantThat image satisfies.

…It’s not that the worm forgives the plough; it gives it no mind. (Pain occurs, in passing.) (lines 37-39 in the poem ‘Fantasia on a Theme from IKEA’)

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.