#poe

I've often entertained paranoid suspicions about my fridge and what it's been doing to my poetry when I'm not looking, but I never even considered that my fan was thinking about me. ↗

— George Murray

#been #considered #doing #entertained #even

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

— Alfred de Musset

#content #each #memorable #poet #three

to live in this world you must be able to do three things to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go ↗

— Mary Oliver

#poem #poetry #life

Song of Myself I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#poetry #age

When Ulysses hears his own story sung by an epic poet and then he reveals his identity and the poet wants to continue singing, Ulysses isn't interested any longer. That's very astonishing. ↗

— Raymond Queneau

#astonishing #continue #epic #hears #his

Our age has built itself vast reservoirs of power / formless as the straining energy that it wrests from the earth. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#age

You have shown me a love that cannot be given or taken let us back in the fullness of ourselves a simple kiss now blood and breath both awakened a balanced diet to sustain life and health. ↗

— Saul Williams Said the Shotgun to the head

#diet

Though much is taken, much abides; and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ↗

— Alfred Tennyson

#heroism #poetry #ulysses #age

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

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#dreams

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet: And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply I may forget. ↗

— Christina Rossetti

#poetry #death