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I look in the mirror. There's me. What's in the mirror is not real. So am I unreal?
Derek Walcott
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Derek Walcott
Age: 87 †
Born: 1930
Born: January 23
Died: 2017
Died: March 17
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Derek Alton Walcott
Sir Derek Alton Walcott
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More quotes by Derek Walcott
The classics can console. But not enough.
Derek Walcott
The poem is itself a mirror.
Derek Walcott
She's a rare vase, out of a cat's reach, on its shelf.
Derek Walcott
The truth is that the poems are ecstatic.
Derek Walcott
You can't write drunk.
Derek Walcott
We read, we travel, we become.
Derek Walcott
The personal vocabulary, the individual melody whose metre is one's biography, joins in that sound, with any luck, and the body moves like a walking, a waking island.
Derek Walcott
The thing that is believed is a reality.
Derek Walcott
The future happens. No matter how much we scream.
Derek Walcott
Memory that yearns to join the centre, a limb remembering the body from which it has been severed, like those bamboo thighs of the god.
Derek Walcott
A culture, we all know, is made by its cities.
Derek Walcott
Damn wind shift sudden as a woman mind.
Derek Walcott
I read I travel I become
Derek Walcott
For every poet it is always morning in the world history a forgotten, insomniac night. The fate of poetry is to fall in love with the world in spite of history.
Derek Walcott
When you get a class reciting some great poems, it'll tear your heart out.
Derek Walcott
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.
Derek Walcott
The sigh of History rises over ruins, not over landscapes, and in the Antilles there are few ruins to sigh over, apart from the ruins of sugar estates and abandoned forts.
Derek Walcott
Good science and good art are always about a condition of awe. I don't think there is any other function for the poet or the scientist in the human tribe but the astonishment of the soul.
Derek Walcott
The voice does go up in a poem. It is an address, even if it is to oneself.
Derek Walcott
Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor.
Derek Walcott