#poet

Desire, loneliness, wind in the flowering almond— surely these are the great, the inexhaustible subjects to which my predecessors apprenticed themselves. I hear them echo in my own heart, disguised as convention. ↗

— Louise Glück

#age

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three. ↗

— Philip Larkin

#letters-to-monica #philip-larkin #poem #poet #poetry

The first time I saw hundreds of fiddlehead ferns boiling in an enormous pot I realized what an odd person I must be to hear tiny cries from the mouths of cooking vegetables. ↗

— Maureen Seaton

#vegetables #age

I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, "Mamma, can I open the light?" She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art. It was a sort of metaphor, but she was not using it as ornamentation. ↗

— Ezra Pound

#language #poetry #age

The yard was a little centre of regeneration. Here, with keen edges and smooth curves, were forms in the exact likeness of those he had seen abraded and time-eaten on the walls. These were the ideas in modern prose which the lichened colleges presented in old poetry. Even some of those antiques might have been called prose when they were new. They had done nothing but wait, and had become poetical. How easy to the smallest building; how impossible to most men. ↗

— Thomas Hardy

#buildings #poetry #architecture

Modern evangelicals like to compare holy things to soft drinks, designer clothes, [and other products in] our modern consumerist culture. The problem with this is not ... the comparison to a created thing. The problem is that it is ... bad poetry. The Bible compares God to very mundane things, but does so with poetic wonder. God "shall come down like rain upon the mown grass; as showers that water the earth. ↗

— Douglas Wilson

#architecture

Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not ↗

— John Keats

#beauty #poetry #art

this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#art

Does something which exists on the edge have no true relevance to the stable center, or does it, by being on the edge, become a part of the edge and thus a part of the boundary, the definition which gives the whole its shape? ↗

— Lucy Grealy

#poetry #art

you will never catch up. Walk around feeling like a leaf know you could tumble at any second. Then decide what to do with your time. --The Art of Disappearing ↗

— Naomi Shihab Nye

#art