The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. — Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. — Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. — Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. — Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. — Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
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The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us.

— Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom
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More “Poetry” Quotes

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end;Each changing place with that whi — William Shakespeare, The Sonnets and Narrative Poems
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of starsLetting in the light, peepho — Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems
But words are things, and a small drop of ink,      Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousand — George Gordon Byron, Don Juan
And thus we all are nighingThe truth we fear to know:Death will end our cryingFor friends that come and go. — Edwin Arlington Robinson
Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives,Sweet as a song that on — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I see a brightportionunder the overhead lightthat shades intodarknessand then into darkerdarknessand I can't see beyond — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
And let me ask you this: the dead, where aren't they? — Franz Wright, God's Silence
I came in haste with cursing breath,And heart of hardest steel;But when I saw thee cold in death,I felt as man should fe — Alfred Tennyson
If I could find one wordthat would shudder the airlike that frightened sob,that wordless prayerof my newly-born,who drew — Kenneth L. Patton
When shall I be dead and rid Of all the wrong my father did? How long, how long 'till spade and hearse Put to sleep my m — T.H. White, The Once and Future King
When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream. — Dejan Stojanovic, Circling: 1978-1987
The grave's a fine and private place,But none, I think, do there embrace. — Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress