Top 19 Quotes & Sayings by Charles Wright

Explore popular quotes and sayings by an American poet Charles Wright.
Charles Wright

Charles Wright is an American poet. He shared the National Book Award in 1983 for Country Music: Selected Early Poems and won the Pulitzer Prize in 1998 for Black Zodiac. From 2014 to 2015, he served as the 20th Poet Laureate of the United States.

Explore Charles Wright Quotes About

Ache Alive Answer Autobiographical Back Begin Begin Again Book Burn Cast Hide All Constellations Dark Dark Side Days Decline Deep Dismal Dreams Dust Dwarf Earth Edge Empty Fall Find Fingers Fire Floats Flush Forms Front Give Give Me Great Hands Hard Hard Work Harmonies Hears Heart Holds How Many Times Identify Important Inside Interior Landscape Last Night Leave Life Life On The Edge Light Live Lives Lock Long Love Luminous Makes Making Matter Matters Memory Mist Moon Morning Music My Life Night Nights Noise November Orchard Our Dreams Past People Pitch Poem Poetry Poetry Is Point Quarter Rain Read Remnants Repeat Ride Ripple Sake Sends Shirt Side Sixty Slip Some People Stand Stars Stay Structures Summer Sunlight Sweet Talking Thick Thing Things Times To Love Tranquility Turn Uncertainty Unendurable Voyage Walk Weight What's Important Work World Wrists Written Wrong Year Years Yesterday Less More Hide All See All
November’s a burn and an ache.
It’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at.
How many years have slipped through our hands??At least as many as the constellations we still can identify.?The quarter moon, like a light skiff,? floats out of the mist-remnants?Of last night’s hard rain.?It, too, will slip through our fingers? with no ripple, without us in it.
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable. — © Charles Wright
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.
How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad. How sweet is yesterday's noise
Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.
The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears.
Snub end of a dismal year, deep in the dwarf orchard, The sky with its undercoat of blackwash and point stars, I stand in the dark and answer to My life, this shirt I want to take off, which is on fire . . .
The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.
What makes us leave what we love best? What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself When we need it most, That sends us into uncertainty for its own sake And holds us flush there until we begin to love it And have to begin again? What is it within our own lives we decline to live Whenever we find it, making our days unendurable, And nights almost visionless? I still don't know yet, but I do it.
Poetry is the dark side of the moon.
Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride.
Some people have everything Other people don't But everything don't mean a thing If it ain't the thing you want
I empty myself with light Until I become morning.
If you want great tranquility/ It's hard work and a long walk
How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?
We've all led raucous lives, some of them inside, some of them out. But only the poem you leave behind is what's important. Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride. Sometimes I can't sit still for all the asininities I read. Give me the hummingbird, who has to eat sixty times His own weight a day just to stay alive. Now that's a life on the edge.
It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.
All forms of landscape are autobiographical. — © Charles Wright
All forms of landscape are autobiographical.
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