Quote

... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay.

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
Body
Bone
Men
Rebel
Life
Skin
Skins
Bones
Maggot
Flesh
Wily
Blood
Maggots
Word
Slay

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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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Families, like countries, take their prophets unkindly, but a verse-speaker in the house is dishonor to be hooted.
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[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
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Life always offers you a second chance. is called tomorrow.
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I sang in my chains like the sea
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And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
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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.
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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
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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 photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth.
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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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My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.
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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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After the first death, there is no other.
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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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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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Though lovers be lost love shall not.
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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.
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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.
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Too many of the artists of Wales spend too much time talking about the position of theartists of Wales.There is only one position for an artist anywhere: and that is, upright.
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