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Sex means nothing--just the moment of ecstasy, that flares and dies in minutes.

Philip Larkin

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Philip Larkin
Age: 63 †
Born: 1922
Born: August 9
Died: 1985
Died: December 2
Critic
Journalist
Librarian
Music Critic
Music Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Coventry
England
UK
Philip Arthur Larkin
Nothing
Flare
Mean
Ecstasy
Sex
Minutes
Dies
Moment
Means
Moments
Flares

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All the unhurried day / Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
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I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.
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Living in England has no such excuse: These are my customs and establishments.
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Get stewed:Books are a load of crap.
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But, o, photography! as no art is,Faithful and disappointing! That recordsDull days as dull, and hold-it smiles as frauds,And will not censor blemishes,Like washing-lines, and Hall's-Distemper boards
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Life and literature is a question of what one thrills to, and further than that no man shall ever go without putting his foot in a turd.
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Here no elsewhere underwrites my existence.
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I am awakened each dawn Increasingly to fear.
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I have no enemies. But my friends don't like me.
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Spring, of all seasons most gratuitous, Is fold of untaught flower, is race of water, Is earth's most multiple, excited daughter And those she has least use for see her best, Their paths grown craven and circuitous, Their visions mountain-clear, their needs immodest.
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My age fallen away like white swaddling Floats in the middle distance, becomes An inhabited cloud.
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I am beginning to think of the human imagination as a fruit machine on which victories are rare and separated by much vain expense, and represent a rare alignment of mental and spiritual qualities that normally are quite at odds.
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I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
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I never think of poetry or the poetry scene, only separate poems written by individuals.
Philip Larkin
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I think that at the bottom of all art lies the impulse to preserve.
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One of the sadder things, I think, Is how our birthdays slowly sink: Presents and parties disappear, The cards grow fewer year by year, Till, when one reaches sixty-five, How many care we're still alive?
Philip Larkin
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Still, vicious or virtuous, Love suits most of us.
Philip Larkin
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And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.
Philip Larkin
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SEX is designed for people who like overcoming obstacles.
Philip Larkin
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One of the quainter quirks of life is that we shall never know who dies on the dame day as we do ourselves.
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