Quote

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.

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
Grows
Halt
Secret
Vitality
Dies
Dawn
Eye
Soil
Nature
Logic
Sun
Allotments
Waste
Halts
Blood
Jumps

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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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Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!
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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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He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
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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.
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