William Collins Quotes
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Each one is a gift, no doubt, mysteriously placed in your waking hand or set upon your forehead moments before you open your eyes.
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My pen moves along the pagelike the snout of a strange animalshaped like a human armand dressed in the sleeve of a loose green sweater.
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I'm not dismayed that poetry's appeal is limited in scope. That's why we have National Poetry Month. It's a sign of its neglect, which isn't necessarily a negative thing. It's not like we have National TV Month.
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With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sate retir'd, And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul.
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By fairy hands their knell is rung; / By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
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In a while, one of us will go up to bedand the other one will follow.Then we will slip below the surface of the nightinto miles of water, drifting down and downto the dark, soundless bottomuntil the weight of dreams pulls us lower still.
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When Music, heavenly maid, was young,While yet in early Greece she sung.
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You tell me it is too early to be looking back, but that is because you have forgotten the perfect simplicity of being one and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
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Here's to the wind blowing against this lighted house and to the vast, windless spaces between the stars.
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If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, / May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear.
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The sunlight flashes off your windshield,and when I look up into the small, posted mirror,I watch you diminish--my echo, my twin--and vanish around a curve in this whipof a road we can't help traveling together.
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I want my mind to be a sail, susceptible to any breeze that might be blowing across the lake of consciousness.
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When a writer becomes a reader of his or her own work, a lot can go wrong. It's like do-it-yourself dentistry.
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Between the dark lakes where the dark rivers flowthere is no ferry waiting on the shore of rockand no man holding a long oar,ready to take your last coin.This is the real earth and the real water it contains.
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Then there were the wits,using their last breath to exhale a line,a devastating capper, as if the worldwere simply a large gallery buzzing with people,and now it was time to throw on a long scarfand make an exit, leavingit to someone else to close the door.
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I think humor is a very serious thing. I use it as a way of weakening the reader's defenses so that I can more easily take him to something more.
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There are many that I miss, having sent my last one out a car window sparking along the road one night, years ago.
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And with Yeats you lean against a broken pear tree, the day hooded by low clouds.
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Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole.
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When words are put together in fresh ways there is a pleasure-giving quality in language, which brings a release of endorphins.
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How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, / By all their country's wishes blest!
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But all they want to do Is tie the poem to a chair with rope And torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose To find out what it really means.
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This is our nation's capital. To have Major League Baseball return to our nation's capital has a special significance, ... There's the opportunity to own something that has been a part of the tradition and legacy of the city and the surrounding area, and now can become part of the fabric of our community.
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But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her,barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my windowin one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor.She will look in at me with her thin arms extended,offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.