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deadpoetsdeath · 3 months
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deadpoetsdeath · 6 months
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“My homeland is in your eyes, my duty on your lips. Ask anything of me, except to leave you.”
- Gabriel Zaid, from "Circe" as featured in Gods and Mortals: Modern Poems on Classical Myths
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deadpoetsdeath · 7 months
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“I’m a master of speaking silently, all my life I’ve spoken silently and I’ve lived through entire tragedies in silence.”
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Meek One
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deadpoetsdeath · 7 months
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Movie: Kapurush
Director: Satyajit Ray
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deadpoetsdeath · 8 months
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“I have read your poems with my door locked late at night and I have read them on the seashore where I could look all round me and see no more sign of human life than the ships out at sea: and here I often found myself waking up from a reverie with the book open before me. I love all poetry, and high generous thoughts make the tears rush to my eyes, but sometimes a word or a phrase of yours takes me away from the world around me and places me in an ideal land surrounded by realities more than any poem I ever read.”
Bram Stoker, from a letter to Walt Whitman written c. February 1872
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deadpoetsdeath · 8 months
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deadpoetsdeath · 8 months
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deadpoetsdeath · 9 months
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“You,” he said, “are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
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deadpoetsdeath · 10 months
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Ilya Kaminsky, from "A Soul's Noise," Western Humanities Review (vol. 67, no. 2, Summer 2013)
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deadpoetsdeath · 10 months
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Sara Teasdale, from “After Love”
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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I shall kiss you so much that they will mistake my mouth for yours.
— Unknown
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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For the love of a rose, the gardener becomes the slave of a thousand thorns.
—Turkish Proverb
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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My bones spell your name as suffocation.
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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I collect the words you say to me and wear them on a string around my neck, close to the pulse in my throat, the thump of my heart.
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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Emily Dickinson’s handwritten draft of “Wild Nights”
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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but this body is home, my childhood is buried here, my sleep rises and sets inside, desire crested and wore itself thin between these bones - I live here.
- Lisel Mueller, from "A Nude by Edward Hopper," Poetry (July 1967)
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deadpoetsdeath · 11 months
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Every flaw I love in you except your absence.
—Mahmoud Darwish
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