#poet

Scientist alone is true poet. ↗

— Allen Ginsberg

#poetry #science #science

The poet is intimate with truth, while the scientist approaches awkwardly. ↗

— Paramhansa Yogananda

#science #spiritual #science

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. ↗

— John Keats

#poetry #death

The poet will only be recited until the death of his language. The violinist will only give recitals until the bowing of nose hairs. ↗

— Bauvard

#greatness #humor #music #noses #poetry

How heron comes It is a negligence of the mind not to notice how at dusk heron comes to the pond and stands there in his death robes, perfect servant of the system, hungry, his eyes full of attention, his wings pure light ↗

— Mary Oliver

#nature #poetry #death

It is commonly asserted and accepted that Paradise Lost is among the two or three greatest English poems; it may justly be taken as the type of supreme poetic achievement in our literature. ↗

— John Drinkwater

#achievement #among #asserted #commonly #english

Sprawled out on the front lawn Looking up at an ordinary sky It could fall on me and somehow be The day I didn't die ↗

— Nick Burd

#poetry #death

The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light that i have in my life. ↗

— Jessica Sorensen

#death

This world that was our home for a brief spell never brought us anything but pain and grief; its a shame that not one of our problems was ever solved. We depart with a thousand regrets in our hearts. ↗

— Omar Khayyám

#grief #home #life #pain #poetry

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#poetry #death