#poetry

I had been hungry all the years- My noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away. ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#nature

In scientific thinking are always present elements of poetry. Science and music requires a thought homogeneous. ↗

— Albert Einstein

#poetry #science #music

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. ↗

— William Wordsworth

#poetry #nature

True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit. ↗

— Alexander Pope

#wit #nature

Nature, it seems, is the popular name for milliards and milliards and milliards of particles playing their infinite game of billiards and billiards and billiards. ↗

— Piet Hein

#infinite #philosophy #poetry #nature

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart. ↗

— Algernon Charles Swinburne

#poetry #love

Virtually everyone needs motivation of some sort, but when you are in love - that is motivation enough, it turns many into poets and painters, it spurs the creativity in you. ↗

— Bernard Kelvin Clive

#motivation #poetry-quotes #love

This is the creature there has never been. They never knew it, and yet, none the less, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene. Not there, because they loved it, it behaved as though it were. They always left some space. And in that clear unpeopled space they saved it lightly reared its head, with scarce a trace of not being there. They fed it, not with corn, but only with the possibility of being. And that was able to confer such strength, its brow put forth a horn. One horn. Whitely it stole up to a maid - to be within the silver mirror and in her. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#love

[Short Talk on the Sensation of Airplane Takeoff] Well you know I wonder, it could be love running toward my life with its arms up yelling let’s buy it what a bargain! ↗

— Anne Carson

#essay #love #poetry #shopping #life

To grow up is to find the small part you are playing in the extraordinary drama written by somebody else. ↗

— Madeleine L'Engle

#poetry #love