Shelley’s servant”. Wasn’t that a wonderful gesture of humility by someonewho was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who tookthe pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam’s poetry inspired...

At the edge of madness you howl diamonds and pearls.

The life we’re given is on a thread, so wear it well.

We built tall buildings, but we have not become any taller.

The difference between a poet and a philosopher is that the poet sees logically and describes basically the beauty whereas the philosopher defines the basics and shows the beauty of logics.

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

Without space, there is no time.

Your head is a lit chamber.

Knighthood lies above eternity; it doesn’t live off fame, but rather deeds.

The Chinese poet George Wu … recorded on his comlog: “Poets are the mad midwives to reality. They see not what is, nor what can be, but what must become.” Later, on his last disk...

The world will not be saved by poets or poetry.

By adherence to a special set of rules, the child of the shabby-genteel can sometimes leap across the time which has passed by his family and function in the real world without doing violence to...

I have tried to live very quietly, so I could be happy.

All things want to float.

There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.

For poetry was all written before time was, and whenever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music, we hear those primal warblings and attempt to...

There is no moral to my song,I praise no right, I blame no wrong;I tell of things that I have seen,I show the man that I have beenAs simply as a poet canWho knows himself...

If you want poets in space, you’ll have to wait.

Creators of history always play with our impotence and our ignorance.

We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.

Everybody talks, but there is no conversation.

The universe is God’s son.

A women’s heart beat is very rapid; it jumps from love to hate, in seconds when in silence there is surely madness.

They have the guns, we have the poets. Therefore, we will win.

My sudden, unforeseen capitulation had knocked me backward, and I had nothing to hold on to. My internal weather was eerily calm, as if in a tornado’s aftermath, birdsong, sunshine, supersaturated colors, wreckage all around,...

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

… Coexisting with the radiant masculinity of Apollonian Keats is a lunar poet of enchanted night in thrall to the goddess Hecate.

All good poems are victories over something.

when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.

But give thanks, at least, that you still have Frost’s poems; and when you feel the need of solitude, retreat to the companionship of moon, water, hills and trees. Retreat, he reminds us, should not...

The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire.He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back...

Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.

There are many secrets; don’t try to resolve them all.

This dwarf still observes the world from his own self-imposed height.

How does one say something new and not retell?

A poet more than thirty years old is simply an overgrown child.

Traps!” he said. “Never in the world! Don’t think it! Why, Gower is just a necessary olf bore. Nobody’s supposed to know much about him–except instructors and their hapless students.

The poet’s job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way, that...

Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we’ll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.

My job as a poet, is not to succumb to despair but to find in words, an antidote for the emptiness of existence.

Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end.

i would rather havefeelings without wordsthan words without feelings.

There is no single thing… that is so cut and dried that one cannot attend to its secret whisper which says ‘I am more than just my appearance’. If each object quivers with readiness to...

Poets are damned… but see with the eyes of angels.

If we were to understand how important it is to say something and say it well, maybe we wouldn’t write a single word, but that would be tragic.

Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?

If you could have walked on the planet before humans lived here, maybe the Ivory Coast would have seemed more beautiful than La Côte d’Azur.

The world is a fairy tale; we are its guardians.

Good or bad, positive or negative, there is no comment more insulting to a poet than one displaying that you have not properly read and considered the things they wrote.