A poet, any real poet, is simply an alchemist who transmutes his cynicism regarding human beings into an optimism regarding the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the flowers, to say nothing of the spring, love, and dogs.
The poet…is the man of metaphor: while the philosopher is interested only in the truth of meaning, beyond even signs and names, and the sophist manipulates empty signs…the poet plays on the multiplicity of signifieds.
John Keating: I was the intellectual equivalent of a 98-pound weakling! I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face!
Neil: [talking angrily to Todd] You're in the club! Being in the club means being stirred up by things! You look about as stirred up as a cesspool!
I think the term poet is a very exalted term and should be applied to a man at the end of his work. When he looks back over the body of his work and he's written poetry then let the verdict be that he's a poet.
I never meant to be a full-time poet: I started out as a gardener, an ideal job for a poet because your head is left free.
True friendship does not freeze in the winter.
There's no physician like a true friend.
True love never grows old.
Whatever one believes to be true either is true or becomes true in one's mind.
In the province of the mind, what one believes to be true either is true or becomes true.
Hold on to a true friend with both hands.
I don’t actually think “true love” is such a good term because love can only be true. If it isn’t true it can’t be love.
True success, true happiness lies in freedom and fulfillment.
Well," he said slowly, "sometimes there's a passion that comes in its springtime to ill fate or death. And because it ends in its beauty, it's what the harpers sing of and the poets make stories of: the love that escapes the years.... "All or nothing...
Many people and poets, especially, talk of love, without thought, without fear, without knowing, what it is, what it can make of us Love is not just grace and beauty, dandelions, a perfect song and rainbows in the sun Love is also bitter, jealous, fi...
What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mank...
True friendship can afford true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance.
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.
Is it a world in the making that turns as it whistles to the depths of my being It is burning Suppose it were to appear A bleeding rosary at the window a sun setting on the marshlands ("Silver Clasp")
A bouquet yellow like remorse Hurts my view The cage The wheel The vile ennui of all mankind And no one no one to break my chains! ("Outcries")
