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Though they go mad they shall be sane, though they sink through the sea they shall rise again though lovers be lost love shall not and death shall have no dominion.
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
Losing
Shall
Dominion
Though
Sink
Lost
Sane
Death
Mad
Love
Rise
Lovers
Sea
More quotes by Dylan Thomas
I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
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I have just had eighteen whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record.
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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.
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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?
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And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
Dylan Thomas
Though lovers be lost love shall not.
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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When logics die, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.
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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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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.
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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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Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think.
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The photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth.
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Washington isn't a city, it's an abstraction.
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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
In the beginning was the word, the word That from the solid bases of the light Abstracted all the letters of the void.
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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.
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[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
Dylan Thomas
I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Dylan Thomas