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Wisdom about poetry.
What people have learned about poetry the hard way, and what the classics said about it first.
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From the library
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Energy is eternal delight.
The poetry of earth is never dead.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
I exist as I am, that is enough.
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide.
Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark.
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high.
Kind hearts are more than coronets.
Water, water, every where, nor any drop to drink.
Nothing will come of nothing.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.
Because I could not stop for Death — He kindly stopped for me.
I am large, I contain multitudes.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
What is now proved was once only imagined.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense.
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
All that glisters is not gold.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.
Sweet are the uses of adversity.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
If music be the food of love, play on.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
We are such stuff as dreams are made on.
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.
These violent delights have violent ends.
This above all: to thine own self be true.
To be, or not to be: that is the question.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
The course of true love never did run smooth.