#poet

Wherever we go we do harm, forgiving ourselves as wheels do cement for wearing each other out. We set this house on fire, forgetting that we live within. (from "To a Meadowlark," for M.L. Smoker) ↗

— Jim Harrison

#forgiveness

Maybe they will only find one another by being somewhere they have never been and maybe none of this has a thing to do with forgiveness but home doesn't always resemble the path. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#poetry #prose-poetry #forgiveness

In this quiet place on a quiet street where no one ever finds us gently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain. --from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet Street ↗

— Aberjhani

#love #poetry #psychology #relationships #solititude

Only poetry, of all the artistic and cultural forms, has a certain freedom of expression in Afghanistan...poetry offers great possibilities for expression; rhetorical figures, and the use of symbols and metaphors do not make the censors' task easy. ↗

— Latif Pedram

#poets #freedom

Solaris a blaze of freedom raging. ↗

— R.J. Askew

#freedom

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ↗

— Richard Lovelace

#poetry #freedom

Spilling a Secret What its size, will have varying consequences. It’s not possible to predict what will happen if you open the gunnysack, let the cat escape. A liberated feline might purr on your lap, or it might scratch your eyes out. You can’t tell until you loosen the knot. Do you chance losing a friendship, if that friend’s well-being will only be preserved by betraying sworn-to silence trust? Once the seam is ripped, can it be mended again? And if that proves impossible, will you be okay when it all falls to pieces? ↗

— Ellen Hopkins

#chick-lit #contemporary #novels #poetry #spilling-a-secret

Tell me something only you know and make a new friend. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #friends #friendship #literature #literature-quotes

The dawn of a color, blooms with a rose. Telling tales, meanings of vibrant with the red of fire. Loyalty extending like the blue ocean blues. Quality like the orange sunset set with romance and friendship. In hindsight, these are meanings and colors, but the important and honest trait...you gave one to someone you love and they admire it and you. ↗

— Alan Ascua

#friendship

A black boy brought Wilson's gin and he sipped it very slowly because he had nothing else to do except to return to his hot and squalid room and read a novel - or a poem. Wilson liked poetry, but he absorbed it secretly, like a drug. The Golden Treasury accompanied him wherever he went, but it was taken at night in small doses - a finger of Longfellow, Macaulay, Mangan: 'Go on to tell how, with genius wasted, Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love...' His taste was romantic. For public exhibition he has his Wallace. He wanted passionately to be indistinguishable on the surface from other men: he wore his moustache like a club tie - it was his highest common factor, but his eyes betrayed him - brown dog's eyes, a setter's eyes, pointing mournfully towards Bond Street. ↗

— Graham Greene

#mustache #poetry #reading #friendship