Inspirational Quotes on Poetry

“Windy attorneys to their clinets' woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathign orators of miseries: Let them ahve scope, though what they will impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart”

“Созданий божьих гнусный истребитель И величайший на земле тиран, Что среди тленья царствует и воплей”

“ঐ নিয়ন্তা হাতটির ইশারায় বসেছি তখন সে-তটে মৎস্য-শিকারে রত, পশ্চাতে বিরান তেপান্তর আমার জমি কি নেব না গুছিয়ে আমি অন্ততঃ? লন্ডন ব্রিজ ভেঙে প’ড়ে যায় ভেঙে প’ড়ে যায় ভেঙে প’ড়ে যায় সে সেই অনলে লুকাল তাদের পুড়ে যা করবে শুদ্ধ অতঃপর কবহুঁ ভইব দোয়েল-সমান—দোয়েল দোয়েল বোনটি ভাঙা কেল­ায় আকিতেইনের রাজার কুমার কাঁদে প্রলয় আমার ঠেকিয়েছি এই খোলামকুচির বাঁধে তথাস্তু, হবে ব্যবস্থা তব। খেপেছে হিয়েরোনিমো পুনরায়। দত্ত। দয়ধ্বম্। দাম্যত। শান্তিঃ শান্তিঃ শান্তিঃ”

“For with his little secret that he cannot divulge, the poet buys this power of the word to tell everybody else's dark secrets. A poet is not an apostle; he drives out devils only by the power of the devil.”

“Most great poems are concerned with wickedness, violence, and horror. But often, at least among civilized people, the whole tendency of the same poems is really towards peaceful goodness, humanity, and reconciliation. Virgil's poem pre-eminently has this tendency. Few if any poets have been so tender and sympathetic as Virgil; and for him the ideas of reconciliation and harmony amount almost to an obsession.And for Virgil it is not only by heroic champions in battle that valour is shown, and it is not only on their courage and resolution that a great future may depend. (In his introduction to Virgil's Aenied)”

“In general the unliterary do not read poetry. A growing number of those who are in other respects literary do not read poetry. And modern poetry is read by very few who are not themselves poets, professional critics, or teachers of literature.”

“The arts, as they develop, grow further apart. Once, song, poetry, and dance were all parts of a single dromenon. Each has become what it now is by separation from the others, and this has involved great losses and great gains. Within the single art of literature, the same process has taken place. Poetry has differentiated itself more and more from prose.”

“I cried out for the pain of man, I cried out for my bitter wrath Against the hopeless life that ran For ever in a circling path From death to death since all began; Till on a summer night I lost my way in the pale starlight And saw our planet, far and small, Through endless depths of nothing fall A lonely pin-prick spark of light, Upon the wide, enfolding night, With leagues on leagues of stars above it, And powdered dust of stars below- Dead things that neither hate nor love it Not even their own loveliness can know, Being but cosmic dust and dead. And if some tears be shed, Some evil God have power, Some crown of sorrow sit Upon a little world for a little hour- Who shall remember? Who shall care for it?”

“To see things as the poet sees them I must share his consciousness and not attend to it; I must look where he looks and not turn round to face him; I must make of him not a spectacle but a pair of spectacles; in fine, as Professor Alexander would say, I must enjoy him and not contemplate him.”

“Poetry is, after all, only nonsense and justifies what would be considered impudence if written in prose.”

“There’s ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o’ letters, Hae thought they had ensur’d their debtors, A’ future ages; Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, Their unknown pages.”

“Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen, die sich über die Dinge ziehn. Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen, aber versuchen will ich ihn. Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm, und ich kreise jahrtausendelang; und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm oder ein großer Gesang.”

“[M]y father discourag'd me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one.”

“Y por esa puerta entrarán, y en esa casa morarán, donde no habrá ni nubes ni sol, ni oscuridad ni deslumbramiento, sino una luz constante, ni ruido ni silencio, sino una música constante, ni miedos ni esperanzas, sino una ecuanimidad constante, ni amigos ni enemigos, sino unas constantes comunión e identidad, ni fin ni principio, sino una constante eternidad.”

“I still accept an imperative of knowledge, through which men may be influenced, but then it must come alive in me, and this is what I now recognize as the most important of all. This is what my soul thirsts for as the African deserts thirst for water. This is what I need to live, a completely human life and not merely one of knowledge”

“Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales Of endless treasure; Thy bounty offers easy sales Of lasting pleasure; Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails, And swear'st to ease her: There's none can want where thou supply'st: There's none can give when thou deny'st. Alas! fond world, thou boast'st; false world thou ly'st.”

“It has often been said that the New World is deficient in the elements of poetry and romance ; that its bards must of necessity linger over the classic ruins of other lands; and draw their sketches of character from foreign sources, and paint Nature under the soft beauty of an Eastern sky. On the contrary, New England is full of Romance....we have mountains pillaring a sky as blue as that which bends over classic Olympus; streams as bright and beautiful as those of Greece and Italy, and forests richer and nobler than those which of old were haunted by Sylph and Dryad.”