#poet

Beauty Is the fume-track of necessity. This thought Is therapeutic. If, after several Applications, you do not find Relief, consult your family physician ↗

— Robert Penn Warren

#contingency #nature #necessity #poetry #beauty

Every single soul is a poem. ↗

— Michael Franti

#every #poem #single #single soul #soul

Then came the healing time, hearts started to shine, soul felt so fine, oh what a freeing time it was. ↗

— Aberjhani

#faith #famous-poets #famous-quotes #freedom #grace

The poetry from the eighteenth century was prose; the prose from the seventeenth century was poetry. ↗

— David Hare

#eighteenth #eighteenth century #poetry #prose #seventeenth

All war is based in deception (cfr. Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”). Definition of deception: “The practice of deliberately making somebody believe things that are not true. An act, a trick or device entended to deceive somebody”. Thus, all war is based in metaphor. All war necessarily perfects itself in poetry. Poetry (since indefinable) is the sense of seduction. Therefore, all war is the storytelling of seduction, and seduction is the nature of war. ↗

— Pola Oloixarac

#poetry #seduction #war #art

A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote. ↗

— Yevgeny Yevtushenko

#anything #autobiography #else #footnote #his

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

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