#poe

All of these teeth had once been in real, live people. They had talked and smiled and eaten and sang and cursed and prayed. They had brushed and flossed and died. In English class, we read poems about death, but here, right in front of me was a poem about death too. ↗

— Gabrielle Zevin

#evidence #poetry #teeth #death

Every individual ought to know at least one poet from cover to cover: if not as a guide through the world, then as a yardstick for the language. ↗

— Joseph Brodsky

#every #guide #individual #know #language

For the poet the credo or doctrine is not the point of arrival but is, on the contrary, the point of departure for the metaphysical journey. ↗

— Joseph Brodsky

#contrary #departure #doctrine #journey #metaphysical

The poetic notion of infinity is far greater than that which is sponsored by any creed. ↗

— Joseph Brodsky

#creed #far #greater #infinity #notion

There is only beauty / and it has only one perfect expression / poetry. All the rest is a lie /except for those who live by the body, love, and, that love of the mind, friendship. For me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because its sensual delight falls back deliciously in my soul. ↗

— Stéphane Mallarmé

#beauty

It came to me on a winter day. Life so full and rich will fade. Though I wish it were not so, One cannot run from an expected fate. And as a steady gust of wind fell upon my face, It was then when I felt a chill and thus did then know; Though I wish it were not true, Life beautiful and sweet shall ripe and pass today. As a petal falls from a rose so shall she blossom and shed; Catching each falling tear, I will not leave a word unsaid. ↗

— Lee Argus

#beauty

There are certain things in which mediocrity is not to be endured, such as poetry, music, painting, public speaking. ↗

— Jean de la Bruyere

#certain things #endured #mediocrity #music #painting

Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private. ↗

— Allen Ginsberg

#human mind #known #mind #original #outlet

The campus, an academy of trees, under which some hand, the wind's I guess, had scattered the pale light of thousands of spring beauties, petals stained with pink veins; secret, blooming for themselves. We sat among them. Your long fingers, thin body, and long bones of improbable genius; some scattered gene as Kafka must have had. Your deep voice, this passing dust of miracles. That simple that was myself, half conscious, as though each moment was a page where words appeared; the bent hammer of the type struck against the moving ribbon. The light air, the restless leaves; the ripple of time warped by our longing. There, as if we were painted by some unknown impressionist. ↗

— Ruth Stone

#nostalgia #poetry #beauty

It almost felt like we were driving in our own world--like we were inside a snow globe--and there was music and sunlight and smiles and laughter floating in the air. And it was all self-contained in a beautiful bubble filled with glittering water that made things seem a little unreal, a little dream-like and hazy. ↗

— Melissa C. Walker

#dreamy #infinite #poetic #beauty