A Poet Reflects

May I write words more naked than flesh,
stronger than bone, more resilient than
sinew, sensitive than nerve.

—Sappho (via absea)

(Source: twenty4mixtapes, via poetfire)

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er fraught heart and bids it break.

—William Shakespeare (via elina-astra)

May I write words more naked than flesh,
stronger than bone, more resilient than
sinew, sensitive than nerve.

—Sappho  (via madame-curie)

(Source: twenty4mixtapes, via elysskama)

You see how I try
To reach with words
What matters most
And how I fail.

—Czesław Miłosz, from “A Photograph”, in New and Collected Poems (1931-2001), translated by Robert Hass
(via growing-orbits)

We’re fascinated by the words
but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

—Ram Dass (with thanks to sleepinginthesnow)

(via litverve)

but writing down the words
alters what I want to remember
that which had no words
was a living breathing image
so now I have two versions of the same
today I can superimpose them
but tomorrow when I’m gone
only the words are left
signs evoking something
that no eye sees any more

—Remco Campert, from “Memo” (translated by Donald Gardner)

(Source: awritersruminations)

Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.

—Hermann Hesse (via libraryland)