The good poet sticks to his real loves, those within the realm of possibility. He never tries to hold hands with God or the human race.
Karl Shapiro
-
Next Quote
Laughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.
- Karl Shapiro -
Previous Quote
But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
- Karl Shapiro -