#poetry

Don’t forget to collect the memories on your journey. Remember, if you only focus on your destination, you will miss out on the benefits of the journey. ↗

— Tanya R. Liverman

#motivational #poetry #inspirational

Todos los secretos están guardados en un mismo cajón, el cajón de los secretos, y si develas uno, corres el riesgo de que pase lo mismo con los demás. ↗

— Laura Restrepo

#life

Living is the opposite of poetry. Poetry is the recollection of living, or, more often than not, the lament of having not lived. Or worse yet, merely the contemplation of living. My advice to you, Ms. Harper, is this: Live. And keep living. And never stop to look back to write about what you have lived and observed and overcome, lest you turn into a pillar of salt. This desert life is already full of such monoliths. ↗

— P.S. Baber

#living #poetry #life

Llevo un equipaje de silencio. Me he rodeado de un silencio tan hondo y duradero que nunca acierto a abrirme con las palabras. Cuando hablo, solamente me cierro de otra manera. ↗

— Herta Müller

#life

Poetry is not the proper antithesis to prose, but to science. ↗

— Coleridge

#science

Life is only a flicker of melted ice. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#flicker #ice #life #literature #literature-quotes

The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #festive #light #literature #literature-quotes

I could have been 23 next July I gambled on what mattered most, the dice were cast. I lost. ↗

— Hannah Senesh

#last-words #martyrs #poetry #life

Self-love isn’t always so poetic; sometimes it’s a nice big triple back flip kick in the ass. You’ve got to call yourself on your own nonsense; on the incredibly efficient way you can be self-destructive. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#life #poetry #self-destructive #self-love #success

I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. ↗

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

#decay #english-literature #king #poetry #power