In everyone there sleeps a sen...

In everyone there sleeps a sense of life lived according to love.

But O, Photography! as no art ...

But O, Photography! as no art is,
Faithful and disappointing!

The way the moon dashes throug...

The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow Loosely as cannon-smoke... Is a reminder of the strength and pain Of being young; that it can't come again, But is for others undiminished somewhere.

Seriously, I think it is a gra...

Seriously, I think it is a grave fault in life that so much time is wasted in social matters, because it not only takes up time when you might be doing individual private things, but it prevents you storing up the psychic energy that can then be released to create art or whatever it is. It's terrible the way we scotch silence & solitude at every turn, quite suicidal. I can't see how to avoid it, without being very rich or very unpopular, & it does worry me, for time is slipping by , and nothing is done. It isn't as if

The poetic impulse is distinct...

The poetic impulse is distinct from ideas about things or feelings about things, though it may use these. It's more like a desire to separate a piece of one's experience & set it up on its own, an isolated object never to trouble you again, at least not for a bit. In the absence of this impulse nothing stirs.

One of the quainter quirks of ...

One of the quainter quirks of life is that we shall never know who dies on the dame day as we do ourselves.

To start at a new place is alw...

To start at a new place is always to feel incompetent & unwanted

Death is no different whined a...

Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Man hands on misery to man. It...

Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don't have any kids yourself.

Poetry is an affair of sanity,...

Poetry is an affair of sanity, of seeing things as they are.

The trees are coming into leaf...

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;

In times when nothing stood

In times when nothing stood
but worsened, or grew strange,
there was one constant good:
she did not change.

Philip Larkin 03.03.2018 03:03:03 148 quotes

This is the first thing I have...

This is the first thing I have understood:
Time is the echo of an axe within a wood.

It becomes still more difficul...

It becomes still more difficult to findЂЁWords at once true and kind,ЂЁOr not untrue and not unkind.

On me your voice falls as they...

On me your voice falls as they say love should, Like an enormous yes.

Now, helpless in the hollow of...

Now, helpless in the hollow of An unarmorial age, a trough Of smoke in slow suspended skeins Above their scrap of history, Only an attitude remains: Time has transfigured them into Untruth. The stone finality They hardly meant has come to be Their final blazon, and to prove Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.

Death: the anaesthetic from wh...

Death: the anaesthetic from which none come round.

I am beginning to think of the...

I am beginning to think of the human imagination as a fruit machine on which victories are rare and separated by much vain expense, and represent a rare alignment of mental and spiritual qualities that normally are quite at odds.

Uncontradicting solitude Suppo...

Uncontradicting solitude Supports me on its giant palm; And like a sea-anemone Or simple snail, there cautiously Unfolds, emerges, what I am.

A writer can have only one lan...

A writer can have only one language, if language is going to mean anything to him.