Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go beyond what he can do.
A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.
Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
To have great poets, there must be great audiences.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep but I have promises to keep...
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.
If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal but which the reader recognizes as his own.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
I've had it with these cheap sons of bitches who claim they love poetry but never buy a book.
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]
Poetry is everywhere; it just needs editing.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand.
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