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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #poetry
Sometimes, looking at the many books I have at home, I feel I shall die before I come to the end of them, yet I cannot resist the temptation of buying new books. Whenever I walk into a bookstore and find a book on one of my hobbies — for example, Old English or Old Norse poetry — I say to myself, “What a pity I can’t buy that book, for I already have a copy at home. ↗
She winced and covered her ears as Eric,onstage, wrestled with his microphone. "Sorry about that, guys!" he yelled. "All right. I'm Eric, and this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled.'" He screwed up his face as if in pain, and wailed into the mike. "Come my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!" Simon slid down in his seat. "Please don't tell anyone I know him." Clary giggled. "Who uses the word 'loins'?" "Eric," Simon said grimly. "All his poems have loins in them." 'Turgid is my torment!" Eric wailed. "Agony swells within!" "You bet it does," Clary said. ↗
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan, The proper study of mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side, With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride, He hangs between, in doubt to act or rest; In doubt to deem himself a God or Beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err; Alike in ignorance, his reason such, Whether he thinks too little or too much; Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd; The glory, jest, and riddle of the world! ↗
It’s the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I’m a woman Phenomenally. ↗
Did I live the spring I’d sought? It’s true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren’t lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o’er crests of trees, to none belong; o’er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered. ↗
Poets to Come POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! Arouse for you must justify me you must answer. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness. I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you, and then averts his face, Leaving it to you to prove and define it, Expecting the main things from you. ↗
So I don’t think I’ll make Poet Laureate, but I swear I’m not twisted and bitter, If finely-wrought talents don’t weigh in the balance, I can always write haiku on Twitter. ↗
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In the kingdom of MySpace, the eHarmony Band used to think themselves more than a match for the E-Street Band with their new folksonomy and flash algorithms, but their Rick Roll Skyrock was so raucous the soundpedia citizendium of Wikicity spread the Google buzz that soon roused the princes of the realm, Habbo, Bebo, senile Weibo and the twins Badoo and Bahu, to decide there and then that the lead Orkut Xing who fancied himself a latter day Bing Dogsby (not Crosby; nor Stills or Nash) was a foursquare odd no-class niki trying to yahoo his way into the charts! They would hire their friendsters, flixsters, adult friendfinders and paypals to drive the upstart and his Hype machine from the United Territories of Wikimedia to exile as a twitpic on the tweetdeck of Pandora's Last.fm. The hapless Cloob skyped off to the Thin Line Strait hoping to stumbleupon networks where Tags and eBay could scrobble him some hiding space, linkedin as they were to oceans of personal information and hyves of technorati. He did not reckon on being waylaid by an army of Iphonic Apps and their lackeys, the Mixi Trolls of Japanese stock, stunted descendants of Godzilla and Mozilla Firefox, from the Sea of Forgotten Memes. No wiktionary held any answers for him as far as he could see; for the wikipedic wordpress had stopped functioning long ago, ever since the videos of youporn went viral and all blogsters and their bloodspots became outlawed. How was he to escape the poisonous twitter of Flickr the Troll of the low IQ... ↗
