Poetic Narrative Quotes

“A poet not only has to observe but also absorb all the emotions objectively in order to express them in verse. Only a calm and detached mind can observe and absorb at the same time. If you participate, you may find the poetic output tilted towards your bias.”
― Alok Mishra

“I knelt and locked the door. I locked the door locking the world and time outside. I stretched my body across the mattress and Saskia drew in close to me and placed her open hand on my chest, her mouth near my shoulder; her breath, my breath blew out the candle, and I held my lost Wanderess with tenderness until sweet sleep overcame us.”
― Roman Payne, The Wanderess

“Through creativity, we are seamlessly connected and sustained as we pull
back the veil, revealing beneath our differences and distinctive characteristics,
human expression and the human experience are universal. It is the greatness
of this experience that connects us together by infinite invisible threads strewn
across the globe. This is my responsibility, passion and desire as an artist—my
soul purpose.”
― Brian Bowers, Shadows Chasing Light

“But as the prey evolves (and we are prey to the Mad who are pursuing us, desperate to impart their own brand of truth to the hapless commuter) so does the hunter, and the true professionals begin to tire of that old catchphrase “What you looking at?” begin to tire of that old catchphrase “What you looking at?” and move into more exotic territory. Take Mad Mary. Oh, the principle’s still the same, it’s still all about eye contact and the danger of making it, but now she’s making eye contact from a hundred, two hundred, even three hundred yards away, and if she catches you doing the same she roars down the street, dreads and feathers and cape afloat, Hoodoo stick in hand, until she gets to where you are, spits on you, and begins.”
― Zadie Smith, White Teeth

“The train's doors closed with a matron's shush.”
― Kevin Ansbro, The Fish That Climbed a Tree

“Turn to the wind, I dare you
For time is but a space that is captured
Live in fear or peace, which will you?
For none shall stand at ease
In fickleness of all human nature
You will fear while in peace
and complain while in fear.”
― F.N.Collier

“Unlike essayists whom write primarily to understand complex situations or convince other people of the righteousness of their opinions, poets strive to stir memories, provoke feelings, and evoke emotions. Poets do not write to reach that exalted perch where logic replaces feelings. Poets write about the connective tissue that makes us human, the poignant remembrances, hopes, fears, and emotions of humankind. It is not our ability to think standing alone that makes us human, but a mélange of incongruous feelings, emotional tidings that are virtually inexpressible.”
― Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

“An old man likes to return in memory to the days of his youth like a stranger who
longs to go back to his own country. He delights to tell stories of the past like a poet who takes pleasure in reciting his best poem. He lives spiritually in the past because the present passes swiftly, and the future seems to him an approach to the oblivion of the grave. An hour full of old memories passed like the shadows of the trees over the grass”
― Kahlil Gibran

“So it was the hand that started it all. He felt one hand and then the other work his coat free and let it slump to the floor. He held his pants out into an abyss and let them fall into darkness. His hands had been infected, and soon it would be his arms. He could feel the poison working up his wrists and into his elbows and his shoulders , and then the jump-over from shoulder blade to shoulder blade like a spark leaping a gap. His hands were ravenous. and his eyes were beginning to feel hunger, as if they must look at something, anything, everything.
His wife said, "What are you doing?"
He balanced in space with the book in his sweating cold fingers.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“Susan looked at me strangely after I said this, seemingly bothered that I was overly effusive about defending something so innocuous and vague.”
― Bret Easton Ellis, The Shards

“The rest of the afternoon happened, I suppose, and then the bells were chiming and the day was over.”
― Bret Easton Ellis, The Shards

“To the white man the elephant had long meant merely ivory, and to the black man it always meant merely meat — the most abundant quantity of meat that a lucky hit with the assagai could procure for him. The idea of the 'beauty' of the elephant, of the 'nobility' of the elephant, was the idea of a man who had had enough to eat, a man of restaurants and of two meals a day and of museums of abstract art — an idea typical of a decadent society that takes refuge in abstractions from the ugly social realities it is incapable of facing, and makes itself drunk on vague and twilight notions of the beautiful, of the noble, of the fraternal, simply because the purely poetic attitude is the only one which history allows it to adopt. Bourgeois intellectuals insisted that a society on the march and in full spate should encumber itself with elephants simply because in that way they themselves hoped to escape destruction. They knew that they were just as anachronistic and cumbersome as these prehistoric animals; it was just a way of claiming mercy for themselves, of asking to be spared. Morel was typical of them.
But to human beings in Africa, the elephant’s only beauty was the weight of his meat, and as for human dignity, that was first and foremost a full belly. Perhaps, when the African does have his belly full, perhaps then he too will take an interest in the beauty of the elephant and will in general give himself up to agreeable meditations on the splendors of nature. For the moment, nature spoke to him of splitting the elephant’s belly open and plunging his teeth into it and eating, eating till he dropped, because he did not know where the next morsel would come from.”
― Romain Gary, The Roots of Heaven

“The train’s doors closed with a matron’s shush.”
― Kevin Ansbro, The Fish That Climbed a Tree

“Eu costumava ser minha própria pessoa, mas agora não passava do esboço do sonho de outro alguém.”
― Natalia Avila

“Poet doesn't write poetry, poetry writes the poet.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Corazon Calamidad: Obedient to None, Oppressive to None

“My sonnet, my rules.”
― Abhijit Naskar, World War Human: 100 New Earthling Sonnets

“Poetry is a way of life, and nobody knows the way better than those lost.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Azad Earth Army: When The World Cries Blood

“Poetry is a way of life.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Azad Earth Army: When The World Cries Blood