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A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end. Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Robert Graves

Marriage, like money, is still with us; and, like money, progressively devalued.
ROBERT GRAVES

Easy Family Funny Life Marriage Precious Time Together Trust Witty World
Kaisers and Czars will strut the stage Once more with pomp and greed and rage; Courtly ministers will stop At home and fight to the last drop; By the million men will die In some new horrible agony.
ROBERT GRAVES
I don’t really feel my poems are mine at all. I didn’t create them out of nothing. I owe them to my relations with other people.
ROBERT GRAVES

Beautiful Effect Impress Impressive Noble People Poet Poetry Relation Result Saying Simplicity Widely
Well, we’ve been lucky devils both And there is no need for a pledge or oath To bind our lovely friendship fast, By firmer stuff Close bound enough.
ROBERT GRAVES

Cast Devil Emotion Feeling Friendship King Launch Lovely Peculiar Satisfaction Soul Strength Style Touchwood
Though philosophers like to define poetry as irrational fancy, for us it is practical, humorous, reasonable way of being ourselves.
ROBERT GRAVES

Fancy Ourselves Philosopher Poetry Practice
Since the age of 15 poetry has been my ruling passion and I have never intentionally undertaken any task or formed any relationship that seemed inconsistent with poetic principles; which has sometimes won me the reputation of an eccentric.
ROBERT GRAVES

Age Encourage Great Greatness Interest Life Passion People Principle Proof Spiritual Support
Any honest housewife would sort them out, Having a nose for fish, an eye for apples.
ROBERT GRAVES
The gas-cylinders had by this time been put into position on the front line. A special order came round imposing severe penalties on anyone who used any word but “accessory” in speaking of the gas. This was to keep it secret, but the French civilians knew all about the scheme long before this.
ROBERT GRAVES

Bow Champion Frustrate Long Order Reward Success Tear War Wind Won
When a dream is born in you With a sudden clamorous pain, When you know the dream is true And lovely, with no flaw nor stain, O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch You’ll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.
ROBERT GRAVES

Born Delicate Dreams Pain True Yourself
So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You’ll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you’ve read.
ROBERT GRAVES

Heaven Hell Kill Walk
Marriage, like money, is still with us; and, like money, progressively devalued.
ROBERT GRAVES

Easy Family Funny Life Marriage Precious Time Together Trust Witty World
Kill if you must, but never hate: Man is but grass and hate is blight, The sun will scorch you soon or late, Die wholesome then, since you must fight
ROBERT GRAVES

Culture Dream Fight Hate Light Machine Men Passion Root Vision
No honest theologian therefore can deny that his acceptance of Jesus as Christ logically binds every Christian to a belief in reincarnation – in Elias case (who was later John the Baptist) at least.
ROBERT GRAVES

Acceptance Belief Himself Honesty Logic
She tells her love while half asleep, In the dark hours, With half-words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter sleep And puts out grass and flowers Despite the snow, Despite the falling snow.
ROBERT GRAVES

Fall Flower Heaven Journey Life Luck Proud Sleep Spark Waiting
About this business of being a gentleman: I paid so heavily for the fourteen years of my gentleman’s education that I feel entitled, now and then, to get some sort of return.
ROBERT GRAVES

Business Education Gentleman Heavily Return
So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You’ll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you’ve read.
ROBERT GRAVES

Fall Heaven Hell Journey Life Luck One Liner Proud Spark Waiting

A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end. Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

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A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end. Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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