Quotes by Poets - Page 463

The most procession that ever comes to a man in this world is a women's heart.

Old soul cries through the tears of a newborn

When this book is mould,And a book of manyWaiting to be soldFor a casual penny,In a little open case,In a street unclean and cluttered,Where a heavy mud is spatteredFrom the passing drays,Stranger, pause and look;From the dust of agesLift this little book,Turn the tattered pages,Read me, do not let me die!Search the fading letters, findingSteadfast in the broken bindingAll that once was I!

So we found the end of our journey.So we stood, alive in the river of light,Among the creatures of light, creatures of light.

I would prefer not to.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

Struggles make us a man or a woman! Stay raw, work hard and party harder!

Featherweight by Suzy KassemOne evening,I sat by the ocean and questioned the moon about my destiny.I revealed to it that I was beginning to feel smaller compared to others,Because the more secrets of the universe I would unlock,The smaller in size I became.I didn't understand why I wasn't feeling larger instead of smaller.I thought that seeking Truth was what was required of us all –To show us the way, not to make us feel lost,Up against the odds,In a devilish game partitioned byAn invisible wall.Then the next morning,A bird appeared at my window, just as the sun beganSpreading its yolk over the horizon.It remained perched for a long time,Gazing at me intently, to make sure I knew I wasn’t dreaming.Then its words gently echoed throughout my mind,Telling me:'The world you are in –Is the true hell.The journey to Truth itselfIs what quickens the heart to become lighter.The lighter the heart, the purer it is.The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.And the heavier the heart,The more chained to this hellIt will remain.'And just like that, it flew off towards the sun,Leaving behind a tiny feather.So I picked it up,And fastened it to a toothpick,To dip into inkAnd write my name.

Thus spoke the Beauty and her voice had a cheerful ring, and her face was aflame with a great rejoicing. She finished her story and began to laugh quietly, but not cheerfully. The Youth bowed down before her and silently kissed her hands, inhaling the languid fragrance of myrrh, aloe and musk which wafted from her body and her fine robes. The Beauty began to speak again.'There came to me streams of oppressors, because my evil, poisonous beauty bewitches them. I smile at them, they who are doomed to death, and I feel pity for each of them, and some I almost loved, but I gave myself to no one. Each one I gave but one single kiss — and my kisses were innocent as the kisses of a tender sister. And whomsoever I kissed, died.'The soul of the troubled Youth was caught in agony, between two quite irresolvable passions, the terror of death and an inexpressible ecstasy. But love, conquering all, overcoming even the anguish of death's grief, was triumphant once again today. Solemnly stretching out his trembling hands to the tender and terrifying Beauty, the Youth exclaimed, 'If death is in your kiss, o beloved, let me revel in the infinity of death. Cling to me, kiss me, love me, envelop me with the sweet fragrance of your poisonous breath, death after death pour into my body and into my soul before you destroy everything that once was me!''You want to! You are not afraid!' exclaimed the Beauty.The face of the Beauty was pale in the rays of the lifeless moon, like a guttering candle, and the lightning in her sad and joyful eyes was trembling and blue. With a trusting movement, tender and passionate, she clung to the Youth and her naked, slender arms were entwined about his neck.'We shall die together!' she whispered. 'We shall die together. All the poison of my heart is afire and flaming streams are rushing through my veins, and I am all enveloped in some great holocaust.''I am aflame!' whispered the Youth, 'I am being consumed in your embraces and you and I are two flaming fires, burning with the immense ecstasy of a poisonous love.'The sad and lifeless moon grew dim and fell in the sky — and the black night came and stood watch. It concealed the secret of love and kisses, fragrant and poisonous, with gloom and solitude. And it listened to the harmonious beating of two hearts growing quieter, and in the frail silence it watched over the final delicate sighs.And so, in the poisonous Garden, having breathed the fragrances which the Beauty breathed, and having drunk the sweetness of her love so tenderly and fatally compassionate, the beautiful Youth died. And on his breast the Beauty died, having delivered her poisonous but fragrant soul up to sweet ecstasies.("The Poison Garden")

Hold your pen and spare your voice.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace And saw within the moonlight in his room Making it rich and like a lily in bloom An angel writing in a book of gold Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold And to the presence in the room he said - "What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head And with a look made all of sweet accord Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."

The paper is my savior, the pen my blood, to words that shed my world.

There is nothing I want but your presence.In friendship, time dissolves.Life is a cup. This connectionis pure wine. What else are cups for?I used to have twenty thousanddifferent desires.

At Bramasole, the first secret spot that draws me outside is a stump and board bench on a high terrace overlooking the lake and valley. Before I sit down, I must bang the board against a tree to knock off all the ants. Then I'm happy. With a stunted oak tree for shelter and a never-ending view, I am hidden. No one knows where I am. The nine-year-old's thrill of the hideout under the hydrangea comes back: My mother is calling me and I am not answering.

Life is an island in an ocean of solitude and seclusion.Life is an island, rocks are its desires, trees its dreams, and flowers its loneliness, and it is in the middle of an ocean of solitude and seclusion.Your life, my friend, is an island separated from all other islands and continents. Regardless of how many boats you send to other shores, you yourself are an island separated by its own pains,secluded its happiness and far away in its compassion and hidden in its secrets and mysteries.I saw you, my friend, sitting upon a mound of gold, happy in your wealth and great in your riches and believing that a handful of gold is the secret chain that links the thoughts of the people with your own thoughts and links their feeling with your own.I saw you as a great conqueror leading a conquering army toward the fortress, then destroying and capturing it.On second glance I found beyond the wall of your treasures a heart trembling in its solitude and seclusion like the trembling of a thirsty man within a cage of gold and jewels, but without water.I saw you, my friend, sitting on a throne of glory surrounded by people extolling your charity, enumerating your gifts, gazing upon you as if they were in the presence of a prophet lifting their souls up into the planets and stars. I saw you looking at them, contentment and strength upon your face, as if you were to them as the soul is to the body.On the second look I saw your secluded self standing beside your throne, suffering in its seclusion and quaking in its loneliness. I saw that self stretching its hands as if begging from unseen ghosts. I saw it looking above the shoulders of the people to a far horizon, empty of everything except its solitude and seclusion.I saw you, my friend, passionately in love with a beautiful woman, filling her palms with your kisses as she looked at you with sympathy and affection in her eyes and sweetness of motherhood on her lips; I said, secretly, that love has erased his solitude and removed his seclusion and he is now within the eternal soul which draws toward itself, with love, those who were separated by solitude and seclusion.On the second look I saw behind your soul another lonely soul, like a fog, trying in vain to become a drop of tears in the palm of that woman.Your life, my friend, is a residence far away from any other residence and neighbors.Your inner soul is a home far away from other homes named after you. If this residence is dark, you cannot light it with your neighbor's lamp; if it is empty you cannot fill it with the riches of your neighbor; were it in the middle of a desert, you could not move it to a garden planted by someone else.Your inner soul, my friend, is surrounded with solitude and seclusion. Were it not for this solitude and this seclusion you would not be you and I would not be I. If it were not for that solitude and seclusion, I would, if I heard your voice, think myself to be speaking; yet, if I saw your face, i would imagine that I were looking into a mirror.

After a debauch of thundershower the weather takes the pledge and signs it with a rainbow.

He who does not hope to win has already lost.

The right vision to a wrong person is like the right seed to wrong soil.

Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die.

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.

It's time for everybody to start becoming conscious of their conscience.

He was my best friend and I needed him.

Sir, he hath not fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts... (Act IV, Scene II)

REFLECTIONS OF TRUTHWhere you find TruthIs where you find your reflectionAnd where you find your reflectionIs where you find loveAnd where you find loveIs where you find lightAnd where you find lightIs where you find faithAnd where you find faithIs where you find purposeAnd where you find purposeIs where you find happinessAnd where you find happinessIs where you find TruthAnd when you find TruthTruth will set you free.

A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring Their shallow draughts intoxicate the brain And drinking largely sobers us again.

To love without need or without expectation of restitution, that is how we ought to love.

The ways of heaven are dark and intricate;Puzzled in mazes, and perplext with errors.

To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboatcomes slowly out and then goes back is truly worthall the years of sorrow that are to come.

...if the verses are for a literary competition, your grace should try to win second place; first is always won through favor or because of the high estate of the person, second is won because of pure justice, and by this calculation third becomes second, and the first becomes third...

Men, some to business take, some to pleasure take; but every woman is at heart a rake

It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man-- that question I had to grapple with, and which thousands are weighing at the present moment in these uprising times-- whether to follow uncritically the track he finds himself in, without considering his aptness for it, or to consider what his aptness or bent may be, and re-shape his course accordingly. I tried to do the latter, and I failed. But I don't admit that my failure proved my view to be a wrong one, or that my success would have made it a right one; though that's how we appraise such attempts nowadays--I mean, not by their essential soundness, but by their accidental outcomes. If I had ended by becoming like one of these gentlemen in red and black that we saw dropping in here by now, everybody would have said: 'See how wise that young man was, to follow the bent of his nature!' But having ended no better than I began they say: 'See what a fool that fellow was in following a freak of his fancy!

We all want to look good, but genuine goodness is in the heart.

Contrariety triumphed in the great hullaballoo of the end of the world!

The only journey is the one within.

You made a poet fall in love with the world.

The fortunate is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,Whose slightest action or inaction servesThe one great aim.Why, even Death stands still, And waits an hour sometimesFor such a will.

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ireland, when sent thither by his father, Henry the Second, with the purpose of buying golden opinions of the inhabitants of that new and important acquisition to the English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains contended which should first offer to the young Prince their loyal homage and the kiss of peace. But, instead of receiving their salutations with courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not resist the temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains; a conduct which, as might have been expected, was highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and produced fatal consequences to the English domination in Ireland. It is necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s character in view, that the reader may understand his conduct during the present evening.

The purest regret, no matter what, is thinking you didn't love enough.

The light of love, the purity of grace,The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

When you imitate others in real life, you deny the world benefits of your uniqueness. So be who you were born to be!.

If your failure is not a lesson, it's indeed a failure.

It's your road, and yours alone.others may walk it with you,but no one can walk it for you.

I many times thought peace had come,tWhen peace was far away;tAs wrecked men deem they sight the landtAt centre of the sea,tAnd struggle slacker, but to prove,t As hopelessly as I,tHow many the fictitious shorestBefore the harbor lie.

Gratitude will make you feel great, choose to be grateful.

Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

When a child keeps asking you to tell him/her a story, what they instinctively really want to know is their true purpose and mission in life. Sadly, this knowledge was never sought out by their parents, and explains why children's books are a very hot and lucrative industry. Instead of telling your child how to become a compassionate citizen of the world, or how to live a meaningful existence by being a positive asset to humanity, you are conditioned by society to simply read your kid a fairytale.

Our regrets want to bring back many things we leave behind

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but those well-arranged words are worth a multi-million-dollar motion picture.

Love is not what we become but who we already are.

I carry my adornments on my soul.I do not dress up like a popinjay;But inwardly, I keep my daintiness.I do not bear with me, by any chance,An insult not yet washed away- a conscienceYellow with unpurged bile- an honor frayedTo rags, a set of scruples badly worn.I go caparisoned in gems unseen,Trailing white plumes of freedom, garlandedWith my good name- no figure of a man,But a soul clothed in shining armor, hungWith deeds for decorations, twirling- thus-A bristling wit, and swinging at my sideCourage, and on the stones of this old townMaking the sharp truth ring, like golden spurs!

May night continue to fall upon the orchestra

How to love is the real question. We all know to love and to keep loving more, but man's confusion comes from the differing opinions on how to love. The Church will always be accused of not loving enough by human standards - which should be its motivation to love more - however that is, in many cases, because its focus is and should also be to love on levels of eternal significance. This is the level of love that will inevitably go unnoticed by those who do not believe in eternity.

It sometimes happens that pleasure blows anywhere it damn well chooses.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

All precious things discovered lateTo those that seek them issue forth,For Love in sequel works with Fate,And draws the veil from hidden worth

Do not compare yourself to others because you are neither superior nor inferior to them.

I feel so blessed to be alive and so blessed to have to have a father that loves me no matter how much wrong I do in this world.

Do not get down on your knees to pray just to show God that you always remember him. Instead stay on your feet, and always do as he would do in place of him.

Sorrow (A Song)To me this world's a dreary blank,All hopes in life are gone and fled,My high strung energies are sank,And all my blissful hopes lie dead.--The world once smiling to my view, Showed scenes of endless bliss and joy;The world I then but little knew,Ah! little knew how pleasures cloy;All then was jocund, all was gay,No thought beyond the present hour,I danced in pleasure’s fading ray,Fading alas! as drooping flower.Nor do the heedless in the throng,One thought beyond the morrow give,They court the feast, the dance, the song, Nor think how short their time to live.The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace,What earthly comfort can console,It drags a dull and lengthened pace,'Till friendly death its woes enroll.--The sunken cheek, the humid eyes,E’en better than the tongue can tell;In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies,Where memory's rankling traces dwell.--The rising tear, the stifled sigh, A mind but ill at ease display,Like blackening clouds in stormy sky,Where fiercely vivid lightnings play.Thus when souls' energy is dead,When sorrow dims each earthly view, When every fairy hope is fled,We bid ungrateful world adieu.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme From that time unto this season I received nor rhyme nor reason.