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The closer I move To death, one man through his sundered hulks, The louder the sun blooms And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults.
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
Sun
Dying
Move
Sundered
Moving
Blooms
Death
Louder
Men
Closer
Aging
Sea
More quotes by Dylan Thomas
Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels.
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Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion.
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This world is half the devil's and my own, Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl and curling round the bud that forks her eye.
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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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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.
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He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
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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 death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through Split all ends up they shan't crack And death shall have no dominion.
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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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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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... 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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To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
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You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!
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Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
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I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
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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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Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true Poem on His Birthday
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I used to think that once a writer became a man of letters, if only for a half hour, he was done for. And here I am now, at the very moment of such an odious, though respectable, danger.
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If you want a definition of poetry, say: Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing and let it go at that.
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Washington isn't a city, it's an abstraction.
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