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    The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far below the musician in that of invisible things.

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  20  /  61  

Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; read more

Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.

by Paul Engle Found in: Poets Quotes,
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  35  /  23  

He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.

He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.

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  11  /  23  

Poets are all who love,--who feel great truths,
And tell them.

Poets are all who love,--who feel great truths,
And tell them.

by Philip James Bailey Found in: Poets Quotes,
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  10  /  24  

I am what libraries and librarians have made me, with little assistance from a professor of Greek and poets.

I am what libraries and librarians have made me, with little assistance from a professor of Greek and poets.

by Heraclitus Found in: Poets Quotes,
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  38  /  33  

A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.

A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.

by Friedrich Nietzsche Found in: Poets Quotes,
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  11  /  21  

A poet not in love is out at sea;
He must have a lay-figure.

A poet not in love is out at sea;
He must have a lay-figure.

by Philip James Bailey Found in: Poets Quotes,
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  27  /  17  

Poets alone are sure of immortality; they are the truest diviners
of nature.

Poets alone are sure of immortality; they are the truest diviners
of nature.

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  17  /  17  

Poets are sultans, if they had their will:
For every author would his brother kill.

Poets are sultans, if they had their will:
For every author would his brother kill.

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  27  /  13  

One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," read more

One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," and smiled.
"A Poet? God forbid," I cried; and then
It all came out: how Andrew slyly sent
Verse to the paper; how they printed it
In Poet's Corner.

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