Dylan Thomas Quotes

And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables Of sunlight And the legends of the green chapels.

Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?

It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.

And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days...

before you let the sun in, mind he wipes his shoes.

I do not need any friends. I prefer enemies. They are better company and their feelings towards you are always genuine.

Why do men think you can pick love up and re-light it like a candle? Women know when love is over.

When all my five and country senses see, The fingers will forget green thumbs and mark How, through the halfmoon's vegetable eye, Husk of young stars and handfull zodiac, Love in the frost is pared and wintered by.

A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe, helps to extend everyone's knowledge of himself and the world around him.

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it technically tick, and say to yourself, when the works are laid out before you, the vowels, the consonants, the rhymes and rhythms, "Yes, this is it. This is why the poem moves me so. It is because of the craftsmanship." But you're back again where you began. You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

Teach me the love that is evergreen after the fall leaved/Grave

To surrender now is to pay the expensive ogre twice.
Ancient woods of my blood, dash down to the nut of the seas.
If I take to burn or return this world which is each man's work.” — Dylan Thomas, Collected Poems

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.