We may kill each other someday. — Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
We may kill each other someday. — Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
We may kill each other someday. — Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
We may kill each other someday. — Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
We may kill each other someday. — Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
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We may kill each other someday.

— Santosh Kalwar, The Warrior
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poetry

More “Poetry” Quotes

The fountains mingle with the river,And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever,With a sweet emotion; — Percy Bysshe Shelley
There came one and knocked at the door of the Beloved.And a voice answered and said, 'Who is there?'The lover replied, ' — Jalaluddin Rumi
At the age of four, you were an artist. And at seven, you were a poet. — Seth Godin, Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?
I heard of a manwho says words so beautifullythat if he only speaks their namewomen give themselves to him.If I am dumb — Leonard Cohen
Everything you invent is true: you can be sure of that. Poetry is a subject as precise as geometry. — Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot
Think of what starlight And lamplight would lack Diamonds and fireflies If they couldn’t lean against Black. . . . — Mary O'Neill, Hailstones and Halibut Bones
For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. — Alfred Tennyson, The Complete Works of Alfred Tennyson
I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep."I woke an — Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Secretly, deep down, everybody on Earth believes they can write poetry, apart from the members of the Poets' Guild, who — K.J. Parker
Dear to me is sleep: still more, being made of stone,While pain and guilt still linger here below,Blindness and numbness — Michelangelo Buonarroti
I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when — Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
Poetry makes nothing happen. — W.H. Auden