#poetic

Cara signora Milena, la giornata è molto breve, con Lei e soltanto con qualche altra inezia è bell'e passata e terminata. E' molto se rimane un po' di tempo per scrivere alla vera Milena perché quella ancor più vera era qui tutto il giorno nella camera, sul balcone, nelle nuvole. ↗

— Franz Kafka

#poetic #love

What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them. ↗

— William Wordsworth

#poetics #life

What would your shoes say about the things you do everyday? ↗

— Sherley Mondesir-Prescott

#children #children-s-books #humor #humour #illustrated-books

The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light that i have in my life. ↗

— Jessica Sorensen

#death

The life of our city is rich in poetic and marvelous subjects. We are enveloped and steeped as though in an atmosphere of the marvelous; but we do not notice it. ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#city #life #marvelous #notice #our

Humor has justly been regarded as the finest perfection of poetic genius. ↗

— Thomas Carlyle

#finest #genius #humor #justly #perfection

Every discourse, even a poetic or oracular sentence, carries with it a system of rules for producing analogous things and thus an outline of methodology. ↗

— Jacques Derrida

#carries #discourse #even #every #methodology

Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke—who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught—and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting. And then I dreamed.... ↗

— Kimberly Kinrade

#poetic-prose #change

It's very hard to say I'm surrealist. It's like saying I'm poetic. It's not something you want necessarily to be aware of. ↗

— Michel Gondry

#hard #i #like #necessarily #poetic