Quote

Later our dreams begin catching fire around the edges, they burn like paper, we wake with our hands full of ash.

Naomi Shihab Nye

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Naomi Shihab Nye
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 12
Poet
Teacher
University Teacher
Writer
St. Louis
Missouri
Full
Ashes
Fire
Burn
Hands
Edges
Dream
Wake
Around
Later
Like
Begin
Paper
Dreams
Catching

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I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.
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I am looking for the human who admits his flaws Who shocks the adversary By being kinder not stronger What would that be like? We don't even know
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I want to be someone making music/with my coming.
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The thousands small birds of January in their smooth soaring cloud finding the trees.
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We start out as little bits of disconnected dust.
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Since there is no place large enough to contain so much happiness, you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you into everything you touch. You are not responsible. You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, and in that way, be known.
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I keep thinking, we teach children to use language to solve their disputes. We teach them not to hit and fight and bite. Then look what adults do!
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... the real heroes of race and culture would always be the people who stepped out of their own line to make a larger circle.
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Read, Read, and then Read some more. Always Read. Find the voices that speak most to YOU. This is your pleasure and blessing, as well as responsibility!
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There is a place to stand where you can see so many lights you forget you are one of them.
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our limbs which had already traveled far beyond her world, carrying the click of distances in the smooth, untroubled soles of their shoes.
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I think the job of writing and literature is to encourage each one of us to believe that we're living in a story.
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What did exclusivity ever have to offer but a distorted, unrealistic view of the world? People who stuck only to their own kind were scared people.
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I'm writing mostly to thank you for living you eighty years and to tell you I love you and think of you often.
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Energy is everything. Rubbing happy and sad together creates energy.
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The person you have known a long tme is embedded in you like a jewel. The person you have just met casts out a few glistening beams & you are fascinated to see more of them. How many more are there? With someone you've barely met the curiosity is intoxicating.
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This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
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Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words and not one of them can save me.
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Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
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A poem is a cup of words open to the sky and wind in a bucket.
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