#poe

My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it. ↗

— Ursula K. Le Guin

#humanity #imagination #loneliness #poetry #solipsism

A poet or prose narrator usually looks back on what he has achieved against a backdrop of the years that have passed, generally finding that some of these achievements are acceptable, while others are less so. ↗

— Eyvind Johnson

#achieved #achievements #against #back #backdrop

Many men of science and poets have in their own manner, by various ways and means, and aided by others, sought unceasingly to create a more tolerable world for everyone. ↗

— Eyvind Johnson

#create #everyone #manner #many #means

And my father was a comic. He could play any musical instrument. He loved to perform. He was a wonderfully comedic character. He had the ability to dance and sing and charm and analyze poetry. ↗

— Lynn Johnston

#analyze #any #character #charm #comedic

Love encompasses so much, reaches so far, and heals so deeply, that any attempt to describe it, no matter how poetic, only dilutes it. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#heals #love #poetic #relationships #soul-mates

Poetry is the language we speak in the most terrifying or ecstatic passages of our lives. But the very word poetry scares people. They think of their grade school teachers reciting 'Hiawatha' and they groan. ↗

— Erica Jong

#grade #grade school #language #lives #most

The music of language became extremely important to me, and obvious to me. By the time I was seven I was writing myself. I was a poet. ↗

— June Jordan

#by the time #extremely #i #important #language

Musings The little poets sing of little things: Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings; Lovers who kissed and then were made as one, And modest flowers waving in the sun. The mighty poets write in blood and tears And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears. They reach their mad blind hands into the night, To plumb abysses dead to human sight; To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled, Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world. [click on the thumbnail by Jack "King" Kirby] ↗

— Robert E. Howard

#monsters #nightmare #poets #faith

How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotions, my feeling, by turning it into print? ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#poetry #writing #beauty

That's the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous. ↗

— Galway Kinnell

#only #poetry #profound #ridiculous #seems