#poe

I sometimes like to tinker with poems that have failed, ones that I have sent aside. Even years afterward, I will revisit them if there is something about them that I cannot give up on. ↗

— John Barton

#aside #cannot #even #failed #give

The world is as it used to be: “All nations striving strong to make Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters They do no more for Christés sake Than you who are helpless in such matters. “That this is not the judgment-hour For some of them’s a blessed thing, For if it were they’d have to scour Hell’s floor for so much threatening.... “Ha, ha. It will be warmer when I blow the trumpet (if indeed I ever do; for you are men, And rest eternal sorely need). ↗

— Thomas Hardy

#men

Do not worry about the incarnation of ideas. If you are a poet, your works will contain them without your knowledge'they will be both moral and national if you follow your inspiration freely. ↗

— Vissarion Belinsky

#both #contain #follow #freely #ideas

Yes, there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer, and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe: 'Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Menschen aus dir schuf; Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.' ↗

— Arthur Conan Doyle

#goethe #humanity #men #poetry #potential

Who writes poetry imbibes honey from the poisoned lips of life. ↗

— William Rose Benet

#life #lips #poetry #poisoned #who

Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life. ↗

— John Betjeman

#like #luxury #many #me #modern

Why does one always ask a writer why they stopped? I am sure everyone finds in any drawer a few dear poems. ↗

— Peter Bichsel

#am #any #ask #dear #does

It is strange, how quickly people want to obligate their poets, as it were, on the exile. ↗

— Peter Bichsel

#how #people #poets #quickly #strange

If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#call #creator #daily #daily life #enough

Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father, Your mother, your sister, or your brother? I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother. Your friends? Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known. Your country? I do not know in what latitude it lies. Beauty? I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal. Gold? I hate it as you hate God. Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger? I love the clouds the clouds that pass up there Up there the wonderful clouds! ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#beauty