Ulysses Poem Quotes

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson

In ancient Jewish tradition, as far back as we can tell, the Song of Songs was not interpreted as a love poem or as an allegory of the individual soul; it was interpreted as an allegory of God's spousal love for the people of Israel. ~ Brant Pitre

as I'm bundled up in blankets and I begin to feel cold: will you keep my heart warm? ~ Aditi Babel

...so i will greet you
in a way
all loved things
are meant to be greeted

with a tear in my heart
and a poem in my eye. ~ Sanober Khan

Fox-Trot
By the stream the fox and she-fox stood
Nose to nose beneath the stars
Dancing the music of the woods.
The deer rapped a beat with their hooves,
The ravens sang from raven hearts
As by the stream the fox and she-fox stood.
The great owl called as a great owl would,
The squirrels all shimmied in the dark,
Dancing the music of the woods.
Then from the north a fierce wind blew
And broke the starry dance apart
By the stream where the fox and she-fox stood. ~ Beth Kephart

A novel takes place over time. It's a historical narrative, and it needs to have a series of peaks and valleys and the move through. You can't just start at the highest pitch and stay there, but you can in a lyric poem. ~ Edward Hirsch

Scarring smiles, hidden tears,
You stand, heads bowed and revere
The soul before us, burnt and torn
Her faded essence, we sadly mourn
And though she walked a path of lies
Her spirit surely still shall rise
And among her own, she can be at peace
An eternal angel, she's been released. ~ Amelia Mysko

David Henderson's 1970 poem "Keep on Pushing," also analyzed the geographies of urban warfare in the Summer of 1964's Harlem Riots. Henderson warned of the crude mathematics of wide avenues that can swallow protest pickets, easily dismantle popular barricades, and muster five hundred cops in fifteen minutes, but he also suggests how, "For Harlem/ reinforcements come from the Bronx / just over the three-borough Bridge. / a shot a cry a rumor / can muster five hundred Negroes / from idle and strategic street corners / bars stoops hallways windows. ~ Anonymous

When I said I wasn't with another girl

the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it's because it wasn't actual sex.
In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.
Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe's neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway
for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still
believe you're there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,
I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I've lied, knowing
I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me
is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I'm scared you're my pink pony.
Hers is dead. It is really sad. You're not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.
I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don't know where to put them.
I mourn like you're dead. If you had asked me to stay,
I would not have said no.
I ~ Jon Sands

The boys were amazed that I could make such a poem as that out of my own head, and so was I, of course, it being as much a surprise to me as it could be to anybody, for I did not know that it was in me. If any had asked me a single day before if it was in me, I should have told them frankly no, it was not.
That is the way with us; we may go on half of our life not knowing such a thing is in us, when in reality it was there all the time, and all we needed was something to turn up that would call for it. ~ Mark Twain

I don't have a lot of time. I can give a poem a couple of lines, a short story a paragraph, and a novel a few pages, then if I can stop reading without a sense of loss, I do, and I go on to something else. ~ Flannery O'Connor

I was born one thousand times and all the while it was you I met again to only meet again under the thousand stars that divide us and connect us. ~ Christina Strigas

I do believe that a poem needs to remind the reader of his or her own humanity, of what they are, of what they're capable of. Awaken them, in a sense, to the fact that there's a world in front of their eyes, that they have a body, they're going to die, the sky is beautiful, it's fun to be in a grassy field when the sun is shining - those kinds of things. ~ Charles Simic

Too many times, I confused my melancholy for loneliness and sought comfort in the wrong arms. Too many times, I surrendered myself to my own illusions, trying to find something that I didn't understand. Always searching for an elusive affection, desire so pervading it was painful in its insatiability. Every time I held it close, it slipped through my fingers, my body resting in the depth of others only to find myself shivering in shallow water.

When you wrapped yourself around me, I knew it was different. A subtlety I had never known, in your embrace. Our restless, wandering souls came together, ideas and passions transforming into redamancy. I know it now – that elusive something I had always wanted – with you, every day, in every kiss, the way you touch me, in dark and light, in the illumination of all of the little things, with hundreds of no matter whats and the taste of forever. ~ Jacqueline Simon Gunn

I believe it has never been my misfortune to be placed where I lost my presence of mind--unless indeed it has been where thrown in strange company, particularly of ladies. ~ Ulysses S. Grant

The amazing feeling that triggers the fountain of words that flow in my belly. ~ Euginia Herlihy

Mrkgnao! the cat cried.

They call them stupid. They understand what we say
better than we understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her nature. ~ James Joyce

I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me. ~ James Joyce

To have been where you have been
And to still have joy,
Dazzling in your heart,
Now there's a thing to make the whole world smile. ~ Scott Hastie

The passage he had read to Max...brought back thought of a girl and a poem. The words came back to him as if it were yesterday. "Jenny kissed me when we met.... ~ Thomas Allen

Whatever is produced in haste goes hastily to waste. ~ Saadi

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match,we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch. ~ Ana Claudia Antunes

He becomes her pillow
When she wants to sleep
Her lullaby
When she is awake
Her air
When she wants to fly high
Her ship
While she is sinking ~ Jyoti Patel

For my best poems were all written when I felt the worst. When I was happy, I didn't write anything. ~ Langston Hughes

I don't remember the first poem that I wrote because I've been creating poems since I was around 2 or 3. I don't have any memory of that but my mom has written evidence of it. I've always liked playing with words so when I was younger it had a lot more to do with rhyme and sounds. ~ Sarah Kay

But to do its noticing and judging, poetry balances itself on the pinprick of the moment. Slowing down, stopping yourself completely, to read and understand a poem is like trying to acquire an old-fashioned skill ... ~ Ian McEwan

Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie,
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side
And then come back down.
Singing: There dwells a loved one,
But cruel is she!
She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea.
(from poem 'The Forsaken Merman') ~ Matthew Arnold

Hem, you know I don't think that owner's wife where you live likes me. She wouldn't let me wait upstairs for you.'
'I'll tell her,' I said.
'Don't bother. I can always wait here. It's very pleasant in the sun now, isn't it?'
'It's fall now,' I said. 'I don't think you dress warmly enough.'
'It's only cool in the evening,' Evan said. 'I'll wear my coat.'
'Do you know where it is?'
'No. But it's somewhere safe.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I left the poem in it. ~ Ernest Hemingway,

Inside my head / or in a distant / Galaxy / Soft I hear it / Calling me." from the song "In the Blackness" in the poetry collection "Terra Affirmative". ~ Jay Woodman

We took Beowulf, the epic poem in Old English, and put it right together with John Gardner's contemporary retelling. If you bring it into today, we really feel that it has something very fresh to say now. ~ Julie Taymor

What is a poem then? [ ... ] I see a poem as a multicolored strip behind peeling plaster, in separate shining segments. I try to connect hands and horizons, glances and the objects imprisoned in them. That's how it is in daylight. At night [ ... ] poems are like spiriling curves that grow to completeness by themselves. The hardest thing is to hold onto them through waking into consciousness. ~ Stanislaw Lem

What we call a poem is mostly what is not there on the page. The strength of any poem is the poems that it has managed to exclude. ~ Harold Bloom

I find that my reading, particularly nonfiction, can inspire a poem as well as anything else. ~ Billy Collins

There is a tender breeze
Wafting around here
Feel it from your Soul
You will see Magic over here

Did I just now hear a beautiful symphony over here ?
Or is it just your soothing words murmuring in my ear?

Is it the cute mynah bird on my shoulder?
Or is it your soft head nestling that I feel so tender?

There is a tender breeze
Wafting around here
Feel it from your Soul
You will see Magic over here...

Did I just now hear the nightingale sing around here?
Or is it the breeze whispering softly to the trees near?

Is that you giggling away to glory?
Or is that just the flowers mingling with the bees and telling their story?

There is a tender breeze
Wafting around here
Feel it from your Soul
You will see Magic over here.. ~ Avijeet Das

Green and living jewels drip into my eyes" from the poem "All Green and Living Things" in the book "Terra Affirmative ~ Jay Woodman

Before the dawn I leave the night behind me
and before my heart I let you leave me behind.
- from the poem 'Behind ~ Munia Khan

It is not good form to take a Trick out unless one is so firmly established as to be able to afford being associated with someone who might at any given moment write a poem in public. ~ Fran Lebowitz

A single poem
is worth a hundred
cozy winter nights
kind words
and healed wounds. ~ Sanober Khan

There was a poem scribbled at the top of the Ashryver family tree, as though some student had dashed it down as a reminder while studying.
Ashryver Eyes
The fairest eyes, from legends old
Of brightest blue, ringed with gold
Bright blue eyes, ringed with gold. A strangled cry came out of him. How many times had he looked into those eyes? How many times had he seen her avert her gaze, that one bit proof she couldn't hide, from the king?
Celaena Sardothien wasn't in league with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.
Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and righful Queen of Terrasen. ~ Sarah J. Maas

One of the things I tell the writers with whom I work is, man, when you finish a draft of a poem, or short story or novel, you make sure you go out and celebrate all night long because whether the world ever notices or not, whether you get it published or not, you did something most people never do: You started, stuck with, and finished a creative work. And that is a triumph. That is something to celebrate. All the stuff that I'm talking about is really from the point of view of trying to create art - and I don't mean to sound highfalutin when I bring the word "art" in. All I mean is, a work that seeks to illuminate truth in whatever way possible. ~ Andre Dubus III

Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird meaning death ~ T. S. Eliot

Whether if you're a beginner poet or an experienced poet, poets just as other writers would like to have more readers enjoy their work. Whether if you're a poet laureate or novice, or if you're written over 1,000 poems, anytime a poet writes a poem its like their first one, beautiful in its inherent beauty. ~ Reynaldo Casison

Men and women who are lonely create. Those who are gregarious rarely do ... Any poet would rather bed with a girl than write a poem about her. All art is the result of frustration. Art is energy deflected from its normal course in action. ~ Burton Rascoe

In fact he was as
lovesick as a high schooler of an especially sensitive sort who wonders if he dare share a poem with his
beloved or whether she will laugh at him. He does read her the poem and her feminine capacity for
romanticism for a moment approaches his own and they are suffused in a love trance, a state that so
ineluctably peels back the senses making them fresh again whatever ages the lovers might be. ~ Jim Harrison

I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".
Moral: "You mustn't. ~ Lewis Carroll

I now felt a new, pitiful tenderness toward the poem as one has for a fickle young creature who has been stolen and brutally enjoyed by a black giant but now again is safe in our hall and park, whistling with the stableboys, swimming with the tame seal. The ~ Vladimir Nabokov