#poetry

Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth. ↗

— Anne Sexton

#love #poetry #love

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ↗

— Robert Frost

#poetry #age

That's a wonderful change that's taken place, and so most poetry today is published, if not directly by the person, certainly by the enterprise of the poet himself, working with his friends. ↗

— A. R. Ammons

#change #directly #enterprise #friends #himself

Dancing is the poetry of the foot. ↗

— John Dryden

#foot #poetry

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all A heart whose love is innocent! ↗

— George Gordon Byron

#love #poetry #beauty

All those other girls are cake...I'm Crème brûlée...Tiramisu, if you will. Just a few notches above. ↗

— Brandi L. Bates

#brandi-bates #food #girls #love #poetry

One merit of poetry few persons will deny: it says more and in fewer words than prose. ↗

— Voltaire

#deny #few #fewer #merit #more

Poetry is a beautiful way of spoiling prose, and the laborious art of exchanging plain sense for harmony. ↗

— Horace Walpole

#beautiful #beautiful way #exchanging #harmony #laborious

The poem is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see-it is, rather, a light by which we may see-and what we see is life. ↗

— Robert Penn Warren

#capacity #end #in the end #life #light

Probably induced by the asthma, I started reading and writing early on, my literary efforts from the age of about nine running chiefly to poetry and plays. ↗

— Patrick White

#age #asthma #chiefly #early #efforts