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To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
Dylan Thomas
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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
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Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Begin
Beginning
Small
Moonless
Black
Starless
Night
Town
Towns
Bible
Spring
More quotes by Dylan Thomas
... 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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Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion.
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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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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
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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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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 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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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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I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
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Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
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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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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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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
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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Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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A good poem is a contribution to reality.
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[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
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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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Rage, rage against the dying light
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Reading one's own poems aloud is letting the cat out of the bag. You may have always suspected bits of a poem to be overweighted, overviolent, or daft, and then, suddenly, with the poet's tongue around them, your suspicion is made certain.
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