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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.

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
Moment
Moments
Unending
Lightning
Miracle

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After the first death, there is no other.
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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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The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.
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Though lovers be lost love shall not.
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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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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
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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'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
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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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The photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth.
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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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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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He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
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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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In the beginning was the word, the word That from the solid bases of the light Abstracted all the letters of the void.
Dylan Thomas
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Hands have not tears to flow.
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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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Families, like countries, take their prophets unkindly, but a verse-speaker in the house is dishonor to be hooted.
Dylan Thomas
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And from the first declension of the flesh I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts Into the stony idiom of the brain.
Dylan Thomas