Poems Quotes

The only enemy which stands between the talent you posses and success you achieve is known as "EGO" in our Society

She was broken, I think it’s because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.

We humans are so tortured by not properly guessing what will make us happy.

We may know who we are or we may not. We may be Muslims, Jews or Christians but until our hearts become the mould for every heart we will see only our differences.

Life is a university, you will keep learning new things all the time. The tombstone will be your degree.Make sure it's worth a fortune for those who admire you.

We were strange in loveher and I too wild to last too rare to die.

Creating means living.

THE HARDESTSTEPWE ALL MUST TAKEIS TO BLINDLY TRUST IN WHO WE ARE. - ATTICUS

there is a difference betweenloneliness and solitude,one will empty you andone will fill you.you have the power to choose.

APPLY WITHINYou once told meYou wanted to findYourself in the world -And I told you toFirst apply within,To discover the worldwithin you.You once told meYou wanted to saveThe world from all its wars -And I told you toFirst save yourselfFrom the world,And all the warsYou put yourselfThrough.APPLY WITHIN by Suzy Kassem

the hope is smallbut it is everything.

i act harder than i am.i am softer than i look.

Put a girl in moonlightand tell only truthsand every man becomes a poet.

the opening,the breaking,the falling apartis always so quick.the hurting,the healing,the putting back togetheris always too long.

But dear, don’t be afraid of love it’s only magic.

True Relations never break and relation which breaks were never true

Use love as the only instrument to question the world around you.

I am very close to HIM, sometimes I think I am HIM, with my mood is the weather,bright and sunny forever.

Poetry is like an unexpected noise in the night: the creak of a door, a footstep on the porch, the soft scuffle of a moth against the screen, which rouses every sense to an instant alert. So comes poetry to the drowsy mind, which startles a moment, wonders, and returns to sleep.

It lies here deep in the heart, the small chest of painSharp words like daggers placed it hereTo fill with hurtIn filling it grew heavy and drug me downFor to not feel is not to liveUntil I rest at last in dirtThe worst of you got the best of me…

Pray GOD by HEART, Not by HABIT.

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear –lose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

Poems are word paintings. Poetry doesn’t belong to time. That’s why often you feel as if poems are speaking directly to you.

I cast my eyes out to the seaAnd gaze at all eternity.until forever turns to night.My eyes then lift to catch starlight.

Literacy rate tells us about the section of society who can read and write, but do we have a tool which can share the stats about out how many educated illiterates we have in our society.

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

Yet, beauty cannot be forgotten,Eternal Wisdom can never die ...

The poet drafts his work as a writer but edits it as a sculptor, with his pen as a chisel and his mind a hammer.

I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk. 

I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is pressedAgainst the earth's sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in summer wearA nest of robins in her hair;Upon whose bosom snow has lain;Who intimately lives with rain.Poems are made by fools like me,But only God can make a tree.

LIFE IS A JOURNEYTO FIND THE PEOPLEWEIRD LIKE YOU. —ATTICUS

Fear is a hurdle that stops the expression

Don’t pack out!To some people, you make life brightWhen you decide to dim your lightTheir lives will be full of darknessDo shine your light in kindnessTo some people, you bring out a joyWith their emotions, never ever toyWith your smiles, grease them with oilAnd make them glad when their lives boilTo other people, you are the warmthThat kills coldness and brings strengthDon’t do it; don’t pack outElse, they will have blackoutYou’re on earth to do two things hereWake up and do them now; this yearFirst, dare to grow and become betterSecond, help others to also become greaterNever in any of the four seasonsShould you neglect your gifts for any reasonsThe world needs you to make it a better placeDon’t pack out; run your race.

Even when the lights go out, even when someone says to me: "It's over---," even when from the stage a gray gust of emptiness drifts toward me,even when not one silent ancestor sits beside me anymore---not a woman, not even the boy with the brown squint-eye:I'll sit here anyway. One can always watch.

I see that you are heartlessly clever.For you know how to Love,but not Forever. You still return to me in flashes,so strong it clouds my Mind.The fire has turned to ashes,and yet, you’re not behind.

nothing's news.it's the same old thing indisguise.only one thing comes without adisguise and you only see itonce, ormaybe never.like getting hit by a freighttrain.makes us realize that all ourmoaning about long lost girlsin gingham dressesis not so importantafterall.

Tenderhearted people are silent sufferers they just learn the art to fly with broken wings.

Monster a person though monster not human.Monster like music. Like Beatles! Like Schumann!World full of stupid. World full of noise.Monster feel ANGRY. No birthday. No joys.World full of JUNK monster not comprehend.What is a childhood? What is a friend?Monster and human both want the same.Want conversation. Want love. WANT NO PAIN.If monster speak heart: monster life only worsen.Monster not human: BUT MONSTER A PERSON!

You are the mark on my liquid heartwhere love begins with the beginning’s startYou are the desire of the ablaze fires the only truth from ten-thousand-liarsFrom the poem- A Letter to My Love

MAN is a slave only to his own mental lethargy.

Nothing is made, nothing disappears. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping.

My uncle read me Omar Khayyam. In Arabic. Not Turkish or even English. I tried so hard to understand it. I would ask him what it all meant but he always said the pleasure was in the finding out... the discovery. He said you can keep some poems by you your whole life and they will only reveal parts of themselves to you when you are ready to hear them. (Ottmar)

Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.

Opportunity comes to everyone it depends on you whether you take it or leave it. Learn to take risks and play hard because at the end you'd be thankful for your struggle.

November comesAnd November goes,With the last red berriesAnd the first white snows.With night coming early,And dawn coming late,And ice in the bucketAnd frost by the gate.The fires burnAnd the kettles sing,And earth sinks to restUntil next spring.

We were always eating expired things. Milk, bread, biscuits, cake. We forgot about them as they sat around the house and just as they had gone bad, we put them in our mouths. Chocolates I brought back with me from Australia, cheeses in last year's Christmas hamper, juice from the last time someone decided to go grocery shopping. We didn't always realize they tasted funny – not everything curdles and a two-month-old orange can be just as sweet. When we did, it was usually too late. Sometimes it wasn't. We finished what we had started anyway.

Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.

It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me.

Don't ask her to be a rock for you to lean uponinstead, build her wingsand point her to the skyand she will teach you both to fly.

LoreleiIt is no night to drown in:A full moon, river lapsingBlack beneath bland mirror-sheen,The blue water-mists droppingScrim after scrim like fishnetsThough fishermen are sleeping,The massive castle turretsDoubling themselves in a glassAll stillness. Yet these shapes floatUp toward me, troubling the faceOf quiet. From the nadirThey rise, their limbs ponderousWith richness, hair heavierThan sculptured marble. They singOf a world more full and clearThan can be. Sisters, your songBears a burden too weightyFor the whorled ear's listeningHere, in a well-steered country,Under a balanced ruler.Deranging by harmonyBeyond the mundane order,Your voices lay siege. You lodgeOn the pitched reefs of nightmare,Promising sure harborage;By day, descant from bordersOf hebetude, from the ledgeAlso of high windows. WorseEven than your maddeningSong, your silence. At the sourceOf your ice-hearted calling-Drunkenness of the great depths.O river, I see driftingDeep in your flux of silverThose great goddesses of peace.Stone, stone, ferry me down there.

You will not know all about the firesimply because you asked.When she speaks of the forestthis is what she is teaching you,you who thought you were her master.

you giver of light.you lover of love.you beautifulbeautifulhuman being you.

The Old StoicRiches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream, That vanished with the morn:And if I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!"Yes, as my swift days near their goal:’Tis all that I implore; In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure.

I listen to the rainfall, my words wanna flow!Droplets run down the wall,where do they go?Letters in the raw,mesh together for the show!

I drift like a cloud,Across these venerable eastern lands,A journey of unfathomable distances,An endless scroll of experiences...Lady Zhejiang here we must part,For the next province awaits my embrace.Sad wanderer, once you conquer the East,Where do you go?

I LIVE MY LIFESO HAPPILY IN CRAZY WITH HER.

i know it all ends the same, but i was interested in seeing how you would break my heart.

Take me to your darkest cornersand watch your demonssurrender to mine..

No matter what goals you set to accomplish always remember there is a thing known as Life which you should never forget to live and enjoy

Most of the poems I write take 5 minutes, but the words can give a lifetime of relief. Many people that have read my book say it helped them with their grief.