#poetry

Remember, we are mortal, but poetry is not. ↗

— Patti Smith

#poetry #life

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed tomorrow by the multitude. What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by thousands of hearts... ↗

— Kahlil Gibran

#inspirational #poetry #inspirational

Quiero que los poetas dejen de llamarse poetas y comiencen a llamarse sueños y que los sueños comiencen a llamarse estrellas o luciérnagas o arroyos o triciclos ↗

— David Meza

#poetry #wishes #inspirational

I fancied my luck to be witnessing yet another full moon. True, I’d seen hundreds of full moons in my life, but they were not limitless. When one starts thinking of the full moon as a common sight that will come again to one’s eyes ad-infinitum, the value of life is diminished and life goes by uncherished. ‘This may be my last moon,’ I sighed, feeling a sudden sweep of sorrow; and went back to reading more of The Odyssey. ↗

— Roman Payne

#homer #life #moon #nature #poetry

Que les poètes morts laissent la place aux autres. Et nous pourrions tout de même voir que c'est notre vénération devant ce qui a été déjà fait, si beau et si valable que ce soit, qui nous pétrifie, qui nous stabilise et nous empêche de prendre contact avec la force qui est dessous, que l'on appelle l'énergie pensante, la force vitale, le déterminisme des échanges, les menstrues de la lune ou tout ce qu'on voudra. ↗

— Antonin Artaud

#essay #french #inspiration #inspirational #poetry

The one who pulls the puppet strings knows fairytales can heal. ↗

— Sally Odgers

#poetry #stories #writing #inspirational

Ko hodiš, pojdi zmeraj do konca. Spomladi do rožne cvetice, poleti do zrele pšenice, jeseni do polne police, pozimi do snežne kraljice, v knjigi do zadnje vrstice, v življenju do prave resnice, v sebi do rdečice čez eno in drugo lice. A če ne prideš ne prvič, ne drugič do krova in pravega kova poskusi: vnovič in zopet in znova. ↗

— Tone Pavček

#poetry #tone-pavček #inspirational

The robin brushes me at dusk. Our good bones fail. We leave no mark. His voice, she writes, was clear and quiet. I hear him singing in the dark. (“Edward Thomas’ Daughter”) ↗

— Alison Brackenbury

#inspirational #poetry #inspirational

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness - And Wilderness is Paradise enow. ↗

— Omar Khayyám

#companionship #life #love #paradise #poetry

Poetry is a will to put things right, an imaginary solution, a way of avoiding a catastrophe that already happened. Poetry is an escape, perhaps intelligent, perhaps idiotic, from a senile situation. It is a dialectical movement, it keeps tearing open the wounds while trying to heal them. Here we see the only acceptable path open up towards an existence worthy of human beings. Here the seriousness is unfaltering and absolute. Where it will lead no one knows. ↗

— Aase Berg

#intelligence