Top Poem Love Quotes

Browse top 102 famous quotes and sayings about Poem Love by most favorite authors.

Favorite Poem Love Quotes

1. "Cassia.I know which life is my real one now, no matter what happens. It's the one with you. For some reason, knowing that even one person knows my story makes things different. Maybe it's like the poem says. Maybe this is my way of not going gentle.I love you. (Ky Markham)"
Author: Ally Condie
2. "She's right. We would compose poems about love and tell stories that have been heard in some form before. But it would be our first time feeling and telling."
Author: Ally Condie
3. "When does real love begin?At first it was a fire, eclipses, short circuits, lightning and fireworks; the incense, hammocks, drugs, wines, perfumes; then spasm and honey, fever, fatigue, warmth, currents of liquid fire, feast and orgies; then dreams, visions, candlelight, flowers, pictures; then images out of the past, fairy tales, stories, then pages out of a book, a poem; then laughter, then chastity. At what moment does the knife wound sink so deep that the flesh begins to weep with love?At first power, power, then the wound, and love, and love and fears, and the loss of the self, and the gift, and slavery. At first I ruled, loved less; then more, then slavery. Slavery to his image, his odor, the craving, the hunger, the thirst, the obsession."
Author: Anaïs Nin
4. "With each kiss that we shared we experienced the meaning of love. With the passing glances of passion we surrendered our hearts to the silence of the storm of intoxication. Holding on to each other till the roots of our souls have become entwined in the eternal desire of each other." Poem: "The Silence of Love"
Author: Anthony F. Rando
5. "A poem should be palpable and muteAs a globed fruitDumbAs old medallions to the thumbSilent as the sleeve-worn stoneOf casement ledges where the moss has grown -A poem should be wordlessAs the flight of birdsA poem should be motionless in timeAs the moon climbsLeaving, as the moon releasesTwig by twig the night-entangled trees,Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,Memory by memory the mind -A poem should be motionless in timeAs the moon climbsA poem should be equal to:Not trueFor all the history of griefAn empty doorway and a maple leafFor loveThe leaning grasses and two lights above the sea -A poem should not meanBut be"
Author: Archibald MacLeish
6. "Did you finish yours, Kota?""Working on it now, Actually.""How's it going?"He sat up, turning in his chair and holding up his notebook. "I don't know. What rhymes with formaldehyde?"My eyes widened. Gabriel laughed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. "Dude, what kind of poem are you writing?"Kota blinked at us. "It's about a doctor.""Does the doctor fall in love?" Gabriel asked."No.""Does someone die?""Not in the story, technically.""What does he do?""He performs an autopsy."
Author: C.L. Stone
7. "The man who is contented to be only himself, and therefore less a self, is in prison. My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through those of others. Reality, even seen through the eyes of many, is not enough. I will see what others have invented. Even the eyes of all humanity are not enough. I regret that the brutes connot write books. Very gladly would I learn what face things present to a mouse or a bee; more gladly still would I perceive the olfactory world charged with all the information and emotion it carries for a dog. Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality... in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad of eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do."
Author: C.S. Lewis
8. "And when you write a poem within the accepted poem-form, making it sound like a poem because a poem is a poem is a poem, you are saying "good morning" in that poem, and well, your morals are straight and you have not said SHIT, but wouldn't it be wonderful if you could…instead of sweating out the correct image, the precise phrase, the turn of a thought…simply sit down and write the god damned thing, throwing on the color and sound, shaking us alive with the force, the blackbirds, the wheat fields, the ear in the hand of the whore, sun, sun, sun, SUN!; let's make poetry the way we make love; let's make poetry and leave the laws and the rules and the morals to the churches and the politicians; let's make poetry the way we tilt the head back for the good liquor; let a drunken bum make his flame, and some day, Robert, I'll think of you, pretty and difficult, measuring vowels and adverbs, making rules instead of poetry."
Author: Charles Bukowski
9. "There's a poem by Adrienne Rich I first read twenty years ago called "Splittings" that I thought of when I read your letter. The last two lines of the poem are: "I choose to love this time fore once / with all my intelligence."
Author: Cheryl Strayed
10. "I love you," he writes again and again. "I can't bear to live without you. I'm counting the minutes until I see you." The words he uses are the idioms of popular songs and poems in the newspaper. And mine to him are no less cliched. I puzzle over the onionskin, trying to spill my heart onto the page. But I can only come up with the same words, in the same order, and hope the depth of feeling beneath them gives them weight and substance. I love you. I miss you. Be careful. Be safe."
Author: Christina Baker Kline
11. "He slowed to a walk. As he approached her he was surprised at just how pretty she was. She looked a little like Maureen O'Hara in those old pirate movies. His writer's mind kicked in and he thought, This woman could break my heart. I could crash and burn on this woman. I could lose this woman, drink heavily, write profound poems, and die in the gutter of turberculosis over this woman.This was not an unusual reaction for Tommy. He had it often, mostly with girls who worked the drive-through windows at fast-food places. He would drive off with the smell of fries in his car and the bitter taste of unrequited love on his tongue. It was usually good for at least one short story."
Author: Christopher Moore
12. "I thought leaving you would be easy, just walking out the door but I keep getting pinned against it with my legs around your waist and it's like my lips want you like my lungs want air, it's just what they where born to do so I am sitting at work thinking of you cutting vegetables in my kitchen your hair in my shower drain your fingers on my spine in the morningwhile we listen to Muddy Waters, I knowyou will never be the one I call home but the way you talk about poems like marxists talk of revolution it makes me want to keep trying. I'm still looking for reasons to love you.I'm still looking for proof you love me."
Author: Clementine Von Radics
13. "Life is but a Weaving" (the Tapestry Poem)"My life is but a weavingBetween my God and me.I cannot choose the colorsHe weaveth steadily.Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;And I in foolish prideForget He sees the upperAnd I the underside.Not 'til the loom is silentAnd the shuttles cease to flyWill God unroll the canvasAnd reveal the reason why.The dark threads are as needfulIn the weaver's skillful handAs the threads of gold and silverIn the pattern He has plannedHe knows, He loves, He cares;Nothing this truth can dim.He gives the very best to thoseWho leave the choice to Him."
Author: Corrie Ten Boom
14. "One thing has led to the next in my life, but like lines of a poem. I suppose I've thrown in my lot with love, and don't know any other way to go on breathing."
Author: David Guterson
15. "True love requires action. We can speak of love all day long, we can write notes or poems that proclaim it, sing songs that praise it, and preach sermons that encourage it but until we manifest that love in action, our words are nothing but sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal."
Author: Dieter F. Uchtdorf
16. "These poems, with all their crudities, doubts, and confusions, are written for the love of Man and in praise of God, and I'd be a damn' fool if they weren't."
Author: Dylan Thomas
17. "I ran a constant low fever waiting for my ride to come and take me away to something finer. I lay in bed at night, watching the red beacon on top of the water tower, a clear signal to me of the beauty and mystery of a life that waited for me far away, and thought of Housman's poem,"Loveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom upon the bough.It stands among the woodland ride,Wearing white for Eastertide.Now, of my three-score years and ten,Twenty will not come again..."and would have run away to where people would appreciate me, had I known of such a place, had I thought my parents would understand. But if I had said, "Along the woodland I must go to see the cherry hung with snow," they would have said, "Oh,no, you don't. You're going to stay right here and finish up what I told you to do three hours ago. Besides, those aren't cherry trees, those are crab apples."
Author: Garrison Keillor
18. "In school, I hated poetry - those skinny,Malnourished poems that professors love;The bad grammar and dirty words that catchIn the mouth like fishhooks, tear holes in speech.Pablo, your words are rain I run through,Grass I sleep in."
Author: George Elliott Clarke
19. "They call each other `E.' Elvis pickswildflowers near the river and bringsthem to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sportsLevis and western blouses with rhinestones.Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousersand T-shirts, a letterman's jacket from Tupelo High.They take long walks and often hold hands.She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.Emily's poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and RichardNixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoonhe will play guitar and sing "I Taste A LiquorNever Brewed" to the tune of "Love Me Tender."Emily will clap and harmonize. Alonein their cabins later, they'll listen to the riverand nap. They will not think of Amherstor Las Vegas. They know why God made themroommates. It's because Americawas their hometown. It's becauseGod is a thing withoutfeathers. It's becauseGod wears blue suede shoes."
Author: Hans Ostrom
20. "Prose Poems from my book SPANOBSERVATIONSo, we may not be able to explain the world. Not exactly. But we can accept it, and love it. We can turn our faces to the light and examine the minutest details simply for the sake of it. We can live lives of joy and purpose. We are all part of one whole. Take comfort in this. Almost every one of us is capable of holding a cup to another's lips without our hands shaking."
Author: Jay Woodman
21. "To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June."
Author: Jean Paul
22. "Poem by Howard A. Walter (Character)I would be true, for there are those who trust me;I would be pure, for there are those who care;I would be strong, for there are those who suffer;I would be brave, for there is much to dare.I would be friend of all--- the foe, the friendless;I would be giving, and forget the gift;I would be humble, for I know my weakness;I would look up, and laugh, and love, and lift."
Author: John C. Maxwell
23. "Unfinished PoemI would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding."
Author: John O'Donohue
24. "He was not such a special person. He loved to read very much, and also to write. He was a poet, and he exhibited me many of his poems. I remember many of them. They were silly, you could say, and about love. He was always in his room writing those things, and never with people. I used to tell him, What good is all that love doing on paper? I said, Let love write on you for a little. But he was so stubborn. Or perhaps he was only timid."
Author: Jonathan Safran Foer
25. "What was exchanged in the language of their eyes, more perfect than their lips, the language afforded the soul so that no sound disturbs an ecstasy of feeling? In those moments, when the thought of the two happy beings meld through their pupils, words move slowly, coarsely, like the raspy, awkward noise of thunder from dazzling light that appears after the quickness of the flash. It expresses feelings previously known, ideas yet understood, and in the end, if one must use words, it is because the heart's ambitions—which dominates one's whole being and overflows with happiness—wishes with the whole human organism, with all its physical and psychical faculties, to embody the poem of joy that the spirit has intoned. Language has no answer to the questions of love that either shimmer or hide within a glance. The smile must respond; the kiss, the sigh."
Author: José Rizal
26. "Writing the poems, I came to think that regarding is a form of love, but the regarding is not necessarily accurate. In the poems, people are always misperceiving one another. But misperceptions are a part of being alive to others. You don't need truth or beauty. All you do is perceive. That's all you need to have loved and lived fully."
Author: Joy Katz
27. "He thought of trying to explain something he had recently noticed about himself: that if anyone insulted him, or one of his friends, he didn't really mind--or not much, anyway. Whereas if anyone insulted a novel, a story, a poem that he loved, something visceral and volcanic occurred within him. He wasn't sure what this might mean--except perhaps that he had got life and art mixed up, back to front, upside down."
Author: Julian Barnes
28. "… and that's why they leave, isn't it? Because they have to see themselves in the context of something larger than just the two of them. It's like that Faiz poem, you know, mujh say pehli si muhabat, when you've seen the sorrows of the rest of the world you can't go on pretending none of it matters, you can't pretend two people can really live in isolation telling themselves their love is all that matters in the world. And that two of them, when they come back to the city, that's when they find out that their love was imperfect because it couldn't bear the knowledge of everything that lies outside…"
Author: Kamila Shamsie
29. "Haunting the library as a kid, reading poetry books when I was not reading bird books, I had been astonished at how often birds were mentioned in British poetry. Songsters like nightingales and Sky Larks appeared in literally dozens of works, going back beyond Shakespeare, back beyond Chaucer. Entire poems dedicated to such birds were written by Tennyson, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and many lesser-known poets. I had run across half a dozen British poems just about Sky Larks; Thomas Hardy had even written a poem about Shelley's poem about the Sky Lark. The love of birds and of the English language were intermingled in British literary history.Somehow we Americans had failed to import this English love of birds along with the language, except in diluted form. But we had imported a few of the English birds themselves — along with birds from practically everywhere else."
Author: Kenn Kaufman
30. "I loved my friendHe went away from meThere's nothing more to sayThe poem ends,Soft as it began-I loved my friend."
Author: Langston Hughes
31. "The words we construct, the poems we write and the songs we sing, become the love story of a stranger we have never seen."
Author: M.F. Moonzajer
32. "It's easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don't understand. Something that makes them feel strong or clever. It's why they love the ocean."
Author: Maggie Stiefvater
33. "I think Oscar Wilde wrote a poem about a robin who loved a white rose. He loved it so much that he pierced his breast and let his heart's blood turn the white rose red. Maybe this sounds very sentimental, but for anybody who has loved a career as much as I've loved mine, there can be no short cuts."
Author: Mary Pickford
34. "I read your poem," I croaked. "'Fall.'"Then something I never thought would happen, happened: Marcus Flutie was shocked by something I said."You did?" he said. "I thought you lost it!""Well someone found it for me. Where do you get off saying," I lowered my voice, "we'll be naked without shame in paradise?"He didn't open his mouth."I know what that means, you know. Who do you think I am?"He didn't open his mouth."We are never going to be naked without shame in paradise."He didn't open his mouth."We're NEVER going to have sex," I whispered, clearly over-stating my case.He didn't open his mouth. The mouth that used to bite mine."And I'm just going to forget about that biting thing from the other night," I said.He looked at me right in the eyes. If he'd focused hard enough on my pupils, he could've seen his own reflection, his own face smirking at me."You couldn't forget if you tried," he said, before walking away.He's right. And I don't know if I hate him or love him for that."
Author: Megan McCafferty
35. "What he would say, he cannot say to this woman whose openness is like a wound, whose youth is not mortal yet. He cannot alter what he loves most in her, her lack of compromise, where the romance of the poems she loves still sits with ease in the real world. Outside these qualities he knows there is no order in the world."
Author: Michael Ondaatje
36. "It may also be that, quite apart from any specific references one food makes to another, it is the very allusiveness of cooked food that appeals to us, as indeed that same quality does in poetry or music or art. We gravitate towards complexity and metaphor, it seems, and putting fire to meat or fermenting fruit and grain, gives us both: more sheer sensory information and, specifically, sensory information that, like metaphor, points away from the here and now. This sensory metaphor - this stands for that - is one of the most important transformations of nature wrought by cooking. And so a piece of crisped pig skin becomes a densely allusive poem of flavors: coffee and chocolate, smoke and Scotch and overripe fruit and, too, the sweet-salty-woodsy taste of maple syrup on bacon I loved as a child. As with so many other things, we humans seem to like our food overdetermined."
Author: Michael Pollan
37. "When they say Don't I know you? say no.When they invite you to the partyremember what parties are likebefore answering.Someone telling you in a loud voicethey once wrote a poem.Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.Then reply.If they say we should get together.say why? It's not that you don't love them any more.You're trying to remember somethingtoo important to forget.Trees.The monastery bell at twilight.Tell them you have a new project.It will never be finished. When someone recognizes you in a grocery storenod briefly and become a cabbage.When someone you haven't seen in ten yearsappears at the door,don't start singing him all your new songs.You will never catch up.Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble any second.Then decide what to do with your time."
Author: Naomi Shihab Nye
38. "Isabel never despaired, even though I think she knew everything that was going to happen, right from the beginning. There was a Walt Whitman poem she liked, especially the part that went - 'All goes onward and outward,/Nothing collapses/And to die is different from/What anyone supposes/And Luckier.' She tried to believe that, and it gave her some comfort, I know. She was very brave. Always. She hid her anguish and sadness, although I know she felt them. Because she wasn't losing only one person she loved - as we have. She was losing all of them."
Author: Patricia Gaffney
39. "And from then on I bathed in the PoemOf the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,Devouring the green azure where, like a pale elatedPiece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks;Where, suddenly dyeing the blueness, deliriumAnd slow rhythms under the streaking of daylight,Stronger than alcohol, vaster than our lyres,The bitter redness of love ferments!"
Author: Rimbaud Arthur
40. "A poem is never a put-up job, so to speak. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is never a thought to begin with."
Author: Robert Frost
41. "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness."
Author: Robert Frost
42. "His novel or book of poems, decent, adequate, arises not from an exercise of style or will, as the poor unfortunate believes, but as the result of an exercise of concealment. There must be many books, many lovely pines, to shield from hungry eyes the book that really matters, the wretched cave of our misfortune, the magic flower of winter!"
Author: Roberto Bolaño
43. "Shall I tell you our secret? We are charming thieves who steal hearts and never fail because we are the friends of the One.Blessed is the poem that comes through me but not of me because the sound of my own music will drown the song of Love."
Author: Rumi
44. "I Love Loving YouYou are my favorite song; a rhythm of beauty that captures my spirit.You are my favorite poem; an exquisite grouping of ideas set in motion with an unmatched enchanting elegance. You are my best friend; from our laughter to our deep conversations, our moments together are a timeless pleasure.You are my soul mate; a connection so pure, so powerful, that it can only be considered divine. You are my lover; a passionate entwinement, a chorus of ecstasy, and a feeling of complete unity that words could never adequately describe.You are my angel; you remind me of the goodness in this world and inspire me to be the greatest version of myself.You are my home; it is in your loving gaze that I find the comfort, acceptance, and the sense of belonging. You are my love ~ mi amor; there are not enough days in forever to allow me to fully express my love for you.I love loving you."
Author: Steve Maraboli
45. "I feel good with my husband: I like his warmth and his bigness and his being-there and his making and his jokes and stories and what he reads and how he likes fishing and walks and pigs and foxes and little animals and is honest and not vain or fame-crazy and how he shows his gladness for what I cook him and joy for when I make him something, a poem or a cake, and how he is troubled when I am unhappy and wants to do anything so I can fight out my soul-battles and grow up with courage and a philosophical ease. I love his good smell and his body that fits with mine as if they were made in the same body-shop to do just that. What is only pieces, doled out here and there to this boy and that boy, that made me like pieces of them, is all jammed together in my husband. So I don't want to look around any more: I don't need to look around for anything."
Author: Sylvia Plath
46. "I fancied you'd return the way you said,But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song"
Author: Sylvia Plath
47. "So while I drove my little and planned his fantasy night of how I was going to give Otter the key to my soul (his words, not mine), I silently panicked and wrote lines of bad poetry. Normally, I am quite adept at writing poems and lyrics to songs I'l never sing, but this stuff was just atrocious. For example:I love youYou love meThank God for thatI'm so happyAnd Ty's personal favorite (which he helped me on): Otter! Otter! Otter!Don't lead cows to slaughterI love you and I knowI should've told you soon-aBut you didn't buy the dolphin-safe tuna!TY asked me if I got the hidden message in his poem. I told him it was loud and clear."
Author: T.J. Klune
48. "It was a saying about noble figures in old Irish poems—he would give his hawk to any man that asked for it, yet he loved his hawk better than men nowadays love their bride of tomorrow. He would mourn a dog with more grief than men nowadays mourn their fathers."
Author: Ted Hughes
49. "We are about to part," said Neville. "Here are the boxes; here are the cabs. There is Percival in his billycock hat. He will forget me. He will leave my letters lying about among guns and dogs unaswered. I shall send him poems and he will perhaps reply with a picture post card. But it is for that that I love him. I shall propose a meeting - under a clock, by some Cross; and shall wait and he will not come. It is for that that I love him."
Author: Virginia Woolf
50. "Making Cocoa For Kingsley AmisIt was a dream I had last weekAnd some kind of record seemed vital.I knew it wouldn't be much of a poemBut I love the title."
Author: Wendy Cope

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Misery's fine - as long as you know you can get out of it when you want to."
Author: Arthur Adamov

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