litverve
Lit Verve
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Poetry • Prose • Passion
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litverve · 5 days ago
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litverve · 5 days ago
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". . . I also have nature and art and poetry, and if that isn’t enough, what is?"
Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to his brother Theo, January 1874
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litverve · 5 days ago
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"The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity, and by these I shall not regulate my proportions; and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself. As a man is, so he sees."
William Blake, from a letter to Reverend John Trusler, August 1799
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litverve · 6 days ago
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litverve · 6 days ago
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"Love is the last light spoken."
Dylan Thomas, from "Ceremony After A Fire Raid"
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litverve · 6 days ago
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“In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.”
Cynthia Rylant, In November
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litverve · 6 days ago
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litverve · 6 days ago
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"You must learn one thing. The world was made to be free in. Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong. Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you."
David Whyte, from "Sweet Darkness"
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litverve · 6 days ago
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"I want to know if you know how to melt Into that fierce heat of living Falling toward the center of your longing."
David Whyte, from " Self Portrait"
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litverve · 17 days ago
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litverve · 17 days ago
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"into the coppery halls of beech and intricate oak to be close to the trees as they whisper together let fall their leaves, and we die for the winter"
Katherine Towers, "Whim Wood"
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litverve · 17 days ago
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"The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky;"
W. B. Yeats, from "The Wild Swans at Coole"
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litverve · 17 days ago
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litverve · 17 days ago
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" . . . slowly Autumn climbed the golden throne Where sat old Summer fading into song . . . "
W. B. Yeats, from "Mosada: A Dramatic Poem"
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litverve · 17 days ago
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"Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree."
Emily Brontë, from "Fall, leaves, fall"
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litverve · 17 days ago
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litverve · 17 days ago
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"Autumn is my season, dear. It is, after all, the season of the soul."
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Violet Dickinson written c. 1907. featured in Selected Letters
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