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Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.

Dylan Thomas

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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Complaining
Boring
Luck
Somebody
Reading
Book
Think
Complaints
Thinking
Boredom

More quotes by Dylan Thomas

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... an ugly, lovely town ... crawling, sprawling ... by the side of a long and splendid curving shore. This sea-town was my world.
Dylan Thomas
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I went on all over the States, ranting poems to enthusiastic audiences that, the week before, had been equally enthusiastic about lectures on Railway Development or the Modern Turkish Essay.
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It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
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And time cast forth my mortal creature To drift or drown upon the seas Acquainted with the salt adventure Of tides that never touch the shores. - I who was rich was made the richer By sipping at the the vine of days.
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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
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My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.
Dylan Thomas
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A horrid alcoholic explosion scatters all my good intentions like bits of limbs and clothes over the doorsteps and into the saloon bars of the tawdriest pubs.
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Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision that depends in its intensity on the strength of the labour put into the creation of the poetry.
Dylan Thomas
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A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder.
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Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon. She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow. Hold my hand, he said, and then: why are your putting the sheet over my face?
Dylan Thomas
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The photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth.
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My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose and all my grief flows from the rift of unremembered skies and snows. I think that if I touched the earth, it would crumble it is so sad and beautiful, so tremulously like a dream.
Dylan Thomas
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I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Dylan Thomas
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Though lovers be lost love shall not.
Dylan Thomas
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Out of the sighs a little comes, But not of grief, for I have knocked down that Before the agony the spirit grows, Forgets, and cries A little comes, is tasted and found good.
Dylan Thomas
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These poems, with all their crudities, doubts, and confusions, are written for the love of Man and in praise of God, and I'd be a damn' fool if they weren't.
Dylan Thomas
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After the first death, there is no other.
Dylan Thomas
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Reading one's own poems aloud is letting the cat out of the bag. You may have always suspected bits of a poem to be overweighted, overviolent, or daft, and then, suddenly, with the poet's tongue around them, your suspicion is made certain.
Dylan Thomas
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I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, down throw and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression.
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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.
Dylan Thomas