#poetry

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content. ↗

— Alfred de Musset

#content #each #memorable #poet #three

I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#dreams

Everyone I have lost in the closing of a door the click of the lock is not forgotten, they do not die but remain within the soft edges of the earth, the ash of house fires and cancer in sin and forgiveness huddled under old blankets dreaming their way into my hands, my heart closing tight like fists. - "Indian Boy Love Song #1 ↗

— Sherman Alexie

#business

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. ↗

— Dylan Thomas

#inspirational #philosophy #poetry #age

These wrinkles are nothing These gray hairs are nothing, This stomach which sags with old food, these bruised and swollen ankles, my darkening brain, they are nothing. I am the same boy my mother used to kiss. ↗

— Mark Strand

#poetry #time #age

Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here were every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing. ↗

— Dante Alighieri

#poetry #age

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#depression #poetry #sadness #suicide #art

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#death #poetry #age

As if this great outburst of anger had purged all my ills, killed all my hopes, I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world- and finding it so much like myself, in fact so fraternal, I realized that I’d been happy, and that I was still happy. For the final consummation and for me to feel less lonely, my last wish was that there should be a crowd of spectators at my execution and that they should greet me with cries of hatred. ↗

— Albert Camus

#poetry #anger

Anger's like a battery that leaks acid right out of me And it starts from the heart 'til it reaches my outer me ↗

— Criss Jami

#anger #battery #control #heart #inner