Nils-Aslak Valkeapaa Quotes
In the heart’s rain in the eye’s fog in the winter’s smoky snow in whirling snow in storms wind which wants to tear my coat off legends stories the blood red dawn of the mind the warm spring between your thighs the only haven
Quotes to Explore
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I wrote poetry before I wrote songs, and T.S. Eliot was my inspiration. I love his honesty and try to bring that to my own songwriting.
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I got to the big leagues when I was 20. I thought I had it all figured out. Went to spring training that next year and started off well, got sent down, and I pouted pretty much all of 2000. And it wasn't the right way to handle it.
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No matter what's happening in the Middle East - the Arab Spring, et cetera, the economic challenges, high rates of unemployment - the emotional, critical issue is always the Israeli-Palestinian one.
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If I'm feeling desperate, I'll go out image-hunting. I'll go to news agents and stand at the rack flicking through magazines or go to second-hand bookshops. And then, bit by bit, like concrete poetry, I start to realise that I am drawn to particular things, and then I start wondering why that is.
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Between work and the kids, I never see anyone anymore. I mean, when I first met with ABC last spring, and they asked me what I'd been doing lately, I said: 'Gee, I have two kids. I'm usually covered with food, wrinkled and feel guilty all the time.
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Such discussions help us very little to enjoy what has been well done in art or poetry, to discriminate between what is more and what is less excellent in them, or to use words like beauty, excellence, art, poetry, with a more precise meaning than they would otherwise have.
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It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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None but a poet can write a tragedy. For tragedy is nothing less than pain transmuted into exaltation by the alchemy of poetry.
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The attacks of which I have been the object have broken the spring of life in me... People don't realize what it feels like to be constantly insulted.
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Every American poet feels that the whole responsibility for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary aristocracy of one.
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No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job....Poetry..remains one person talking to another....no poet can write a poem of amplitude unless he is the master of the prosaic.
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Trying to make a living from poetry is like putting chains on butterfly wings.
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Autumn is a second Spring when every leaf is a flower.
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What has always attracted me in life is poetry. Any genre can have poetry. For me, poetry contains truth.
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Reagan wrote out many of his radio commentaries and newspaper articles as well as many of his own speeches. He wrote poetry, short stories, and letters. Trump, in his own hand, writes 140-character tweets.
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My friends never talk to me about my poetry because they're embarrassed that I write it or they're embarrassed by what I write about which are not such extraordinarily terrifying things, but they are the state of human existence.
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I did literature at university, so I had a real relationship with poetry, but they don't make many films about the world of a poet.
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Hubris is one of the great renewable resources.
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I do like to have guns around. I don't like to carry them. But I like - if somebody is going to come into my house and I have not put out the welcome mat, I want to stop them.
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Mercury is a potent toxin that interferes with the human nervous system. Reducing this hazard will be a major public health breakthrough.
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All of us must come to an honest, open self-examination, an awareness within as to who and what we want to be.
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You don’t know how much you mean to me. ‘Cause even though when times got rough, you never turned away. You were right there. And I thank you. When I felt I had enough, you never turned away. You were right there. And I thank you, thank you.
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In the heart’s rain in the eye’s fog in the winter’s smoky snow in whirling snow in storms wind which wants to tear my coat off legends stories the blood red dawn of the mind the warm spring between your thighs the only haven
