you said Is there anything which is dead or alive more beautiful than my body,to have in your fingers (trembling ever so little)? Looking into your eyes Nothing,i said,except the air of spring smelling of never and forever. ....and through the lattice which moved as if a hand is touched by a hand(which moved as though fingers touch a girl's breast, lightly) Do you believe in always,the wind said to the rain I am too busy with my flowers to believe,the rain answered
wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers.
Sweet springtime is my time is your time is our time for springtime is love time and viva sweet love.
Always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves.
Well, write poetry, for God's sake, it's the only thing that matters.
If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little - somebody who is obsessed by Making.
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence; in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
-tomorrow is our permanent address and there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do, we’ll move away still further:into now
There is no music unless the drum and the drummer are one.
his lips drink water but his heart drinks wine
Love is a place & through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skillfully curled) all worlds
Treat a man like dirt-he produces flowers.
It may take two people to make a really beautiful mistake.
Certainly the most obvious . . . example of the strictly infantile essence of America's all-conquering mentality greets our eyes daily, anywhere and everywhere, in the guise of the tabloid newspaper. The tabloid newspaper actually means to the typical American of the era what the Bible is popularly supposed to have meant to the typical Pilgrim Father: viz. a very present help in times of trouble, plus a means of keeping out of trouble via harmless, since vicarious, indulgence in the pomps and vanities of this wicked world.
I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.
When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man
in a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes people are in real:imagine somewhere real flowers,but I can't imagine real flowers for if I could,they would somehow not Be real" (so he smiles smiling)"but I will not everywhere be real to you in a moment" The is blond with small hands "& everything is easier than I had guessed everything would be;even remembering the way who looked at whom first,anyhow dancing
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
A world of made is not a world of born
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
Meanwhile myself et cetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera.)
The only man, woman, or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors "is dead."
What time is it? It is by every star a different time, and each most falsely true.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: