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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
Dylan Thomas
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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
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Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Showers
Abroad
Autumn
Walked
Rose
Days
Fall
Rainy
Shower
More quotes by Dylan Thomas
Man’s wants remain unsatisfied till death. Then, when his soul is naked, is he one With the man in the wind, and the west moon, With the harmonious thunder of the sun
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I have just had eighteen whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record.
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I sang in my chains like the sea
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Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
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A good poem is a contribution to reality.
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He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
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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 education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.
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... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay.
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Hands have not tears to flow.
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Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Life always offers you a second chance. is called tomorrow.
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Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire And cast a shadow crab upon the land, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
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Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion.
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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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Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought? 'What have you found,' age answers through his tears, 'What have you sought.
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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.
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Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think.
Dylan Thomas