pull down to refresh
0 sats \ 103 replies \ @Coinsreporter 23 Apr \ parent \ on: Most comments wins 👀 meta
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate
And though I oft have passed them by
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
----J.R.R. Tolkien
Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.
---Yeats
reply
All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it
---William Butler Yeats
reply
Arise you little glancing wings, and sing your infant joy!
Arise and drink your bliss, for every thing that lives is holy!
---William Blake
reply
The blessed spirits must be sought within the self which is common to all
---William Butler Yeats
reply
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
---William Blake
reply
People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
We are here to learn to endure the beams of love.
----William Blake
reply
Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all my ladders start,
In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
---W.B. Yeats
reply
Children of the future age
Reading this indignant page
Know that in a former time
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime
---William Blake
reply
I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.
---William Blake
reply
I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.
----William Blake
reply
On me your voice falls as they say love should,
Like an enormous yes. My Crescent City
Is where your speech alone is understood
----Philip Larkin
reply
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
----William Blake
reply
Truth can never be told so as to be understood and not be believed.
----William Blake
reply
Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech!
---William Wordsworth
reply
Opposition is true Friendship.
---William Blake
reply
getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ~ but like lemmings running headlong to the sea, we are oblivious.
----William Wordsworth
reply
There is a comfort in the strength of love;
'Twill make a thing endurable, which else
Would overset the brain, or break the heart.
---Michael: A Pastoral Poem
reply
Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.
---William Wordsworth
reply
Love comes in at the eye.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
O happy things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gished from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
reply
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
The eye--it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against or with our will.
---William Wordsworth, Lyrical Ballads
reply
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is lost
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity.
---W.B. Yeats
reply
Only the young can be alone freely. The time is shorter now for company, And sitting by a lamp more often brings Not peace, but other things.
----Philip Larkin
reply
One loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams; one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss perhaps.
---W.B. Yeats
reply
When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign, is Solitude
----William Wordsworth
reply
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
---William Butler Yeats
reply
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am.
---Philip Larkin, Collected Poems
reply
Everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
---William Butler Yeats, Poems
reply
The scenery is fine- but human nature is finer.
---John Keats
reply
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
----William Butler Yeats
reply
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face:
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
---William Blake
reply
I sat, a solitary man,
In a crowded London shop,
An open book and empty cup
On the marble table-top.
While on the shop and street I gazed
My body of a sudden blazed;
And twenty minutes more or less
It seemed, so great my happiness,
That I was blessed and could bless.
--W.B. Yeats
reply
could have laugh'd myself to scorn, to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
---William Wordsworth
reply
God guard me from those thoughts men think
In the mind alone.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration.
---William Wordsworth
reply
The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
--William Butler Yeats
reply
Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence.
In her wake
No waters breed or break.
---Philip Larkin
reply
An intellectual hatred is the worst.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
---William Wordsworth
reply
I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
----William Butler Yeats
reply
Common sense in an uncommon degree is what the world calls wisdom.
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
reply
Although I'm not a big fan of post colonial poets but Pablo is an exception.
reply
For the winds that awakened the stars are blowing through my blood.
---W.B. Yeats
reply
To generalize is to be an idiot.
---William Blake
reply
Where there is nothing, there is God.
---W.B. Yeats
reply
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
----William Blake
reply
What do we know but that we face one another in this place?
----William Butler Yeats
reply
Sweet is the lore which nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things—
We murder to dissect.
----William Wordsworth, Lyrical Ballads
reply
When one gets quiet, then something wakes up inside one, something happy and quiet like the stars.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
---William Blake
reply
The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.
---William Butler Yeats
reply
He is full of purpose, but void of the quality of mind which accomplishes purpose.
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
----William Blake
reply
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
---William Wordsworth
reply
Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are born to Sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
---William Blake
reply
It will be worth it, if in the end I manage
To blank out whatever it is that is doing the damage.
Then there will be nothing I know.
My mind will fold into itself, like fields, like snow.
----Philip Larkin
reply
Deep thinking is attainable only by a man of deep feeling, and all truth is a species of revelation.
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good:
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
----William Wordsworth
reply
Sex means nothing--just the moment of ecstasy, that flares and dies in minutes.
---Philip Larkin
reply
Deep thinking is attainable only by a man of deep feeling, and all truth is a species of revelation.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
---William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality
reply
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
---William Blake
reply
Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
---John Milton
reply
On me your voice falls as they say love should,
Like an enormous yes.
---Philip Larkin
reply
Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain.
---John Keats
reply
Or is it just the past? Those flowers, that gate, These misty parks and motors, lacerate
Simply by being over; you
Contract my heart by looking out of date.
---Philip Larkin
reply
Home is so sad. It stays as it was left, / Shaped to the comfort of the last to go / As if to win them back
----Philip Larkin
reply
— In short, I seldom read except to amuse myself — & I am almost always reading —
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Collected Letters
reply
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
----William Wordsworth
reply
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
----Philip Larkin, High Windows
reply
Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks
To murder men and gie God thanks
Desist for shame, proceed no further
God won't accept your thanks for murder.
---Robert Burns
reply
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
----William Wordsworth
reply
Since the majority of me
Rejects the majority of you,
Debating ends forthwith, and we
Divide.
---Philip Larkin
reply
No mind is thoroughly well-organized that is deficient in a sense of humor.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
Loneliness clarifies. Here silence stands
Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken,
Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken,
Luminously-peopled air ascends;
And past the poppies bluish neutral distance
Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach
Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence:
Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.
---Philip Larkin
reply
To most men, experience is like the stern lights of a ship, which illumine only the track it has passed.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little, soon forgotten charities of a kiss or a smile, a kind look or heartfelt compliment.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
At this unique distance from isolation it becomes still more difficult to find words at once true and kind, or not untrue and not unkind.
----Philip Larkin
reply
I am always trying to 'preserve' things by getting other people to read what I have written, and feel what I felt.
---Philip Larkin
reply
What 'twas weak to do
'Tis weaker to lament, once being done.
----Percy Bysshe Shelley: The Cenci
reply
Deprivation is for me what daffodils were for Wordsworth.
---Philip Larkin
reply
Oh would some power the giftie gie us, To see ourselves as others see us.
---Robert Burns
reply
Dear, I can't write, it's all a fantasy: a kind of circling obsession.
--+Philip Larkin
reply
Silence does not always mark wisdom.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?
-----Erin Hanson
reply
Only in books the flat and final happens,
Only in dreams we meet and interlock....
---Philip Larkin
reply
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
----John Keats
reply
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
----Philip Larkin
reply
We look before and after,
 And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
 With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
---Percy Bysshe Shelley
reply
In ourselves our safety must be sought.
By our own right hand it must be wrought.
----William Wordsworth
reply
To most men, experience is like the stern lights of a ship, which illumine only the track it has passed.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
Freely we serve
Because we freely love, as in our will
To love or not; in this we stand or fall.
---John Milton
reply
Our quaint metaphysical opinions, in an hour of anguish, are like playthings by the bedside of a child deadly sick.
-----Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Coleridge's Notebooks: A Selection
reply
Living toys are something novel,
But it soon wears off somehow.
---Philip Larkin
reply
. . . obedience,
Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,
Makes slaves of men, and, of the human frame,
A mechanized automaton.
----Percy Bysshe Shelley
reply
Toleration is a herb of spontaneous growth in the Soil of Indifference; but the weed has none of the virtues of the medicinal plant, reared by Humility in the Garden of Zeal.
----Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, forms our true honor.
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reply
Life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.
---John Keats
reply
***What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.***
---Philip Larkin, Collected Poems
reply