#poe

Lo que yo quiero, corazón cobarde, es que mueras por mí. Y morirme contigo si te matas y matarme contigo si te mueres porque el amor cuando no muere mata porque amores que matan nunca mueren. ↗

— Joaquín Sabina

#cancion #cobardía #love #lyrics #poem

The most procession that ever comes to a man in this world is a women's heart. ↗

— Josiah G Holland AKA Timothy Titcomb

#poetry-quotes #romance-love #love

Не исчезай. Исчезнуть можно вмиг, но как нам после встретиться в столетьях? Возможен ли на свете твой двойник и мой двойник? Лишь только в наших детях. Не исчезай. Дай мне свою ладонь. На ней написан я — я в это верю. Тем и страшна последняя любовь, что это не любовь, а страх потери. ↗

— Евгений Евтушенко

#poetry #love

...a bard's down-to-earth love: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red and when she walks, treads on the ground... ↗

— John Geddes

#mistress #poet #love

What's Love, if not this folly of a wider space, taking us to an innermost Love. ↗

— Teddy Crispin

#poetry #love

But the detail of the poem shows power akin to genius, and reveals to us that much neglected law of literary history -- that potential genius can never become actual unless it finds or makes the Form which it requires. ↗

— C.S. Lewis

#love

sinä kaunis, sinä riemastuttava tyttö ↗

— Sappho

#poetry #love

What is poetry? you ask, while fixing your blue pupil on mine. What is poetry! And you are asking me? Poetry...is you. ↗

— Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

#poetry #love

Tonight Since I'd forgotten for a moment where you are, I search for you with hope in my bones. ↗

— Hester Knibbe

#love #poetry #love

The poems turned up everywhere. Soon the lady of the house went into fits of hysteria when she kept discovering this attack of poetry in the most unlikely places—under doors, in the mother-of-pearl latticework of windowpanes, under jars, stones, flowerpots, loaves of bread, and even delivered by homing pigeons, around whose rose-coloured claws the young matador lovingly wound poems in which he declaimed his love in the quaint language whose provenance was unknown to the world and still evoked images of the uninterrupted empires of Visigiths, the unbridled lust of the Huns and the intransigence of the Berbers. The young maiden recognized only a few words, but to her they were fragments of a secret music: zirimiri, fine rain; senaremaztac, husband and wife; nik behar diren guzian eginen ditut, I shall do everything necessary.... ↗

— Eric Gamalinda

#poetry #home