Quote

He was his own leftover, the spat-out scrag. He was what his brain could make nothing of.

Ted Hughes

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Ted Hughes
Age: 68 †
Born: 1930
Born: August 17
Died: 1998
Died: October 28
Astrologer
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Translator
Writer
Edward James Hughes
Ted Hughes
Spat
Spats
Brain
Nothing
Make
Leftover

More quotes by Ted Hughes

Image
This house has been far out at sea all night, The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills, Winds stampeding the fields under the window Floundering black astride and blinding wet Till day rose then under an orange sky The hills had new places, and wind wielded Blade-light, luminous black and emerald, Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
Ted Hughes
Image
The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain – and the physical body, so to speak, of poetry, is the treatment by which the poet tries to reconcile that pain with the world.
Ted Hughes
Image
Applause is the beginning of abuse
Ted Hughes
Image
The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.
Ted Hughes
Image
You are who you choose to be.
Ted Hughes
Image
The sea cries with its meaningless voice, Treating alike its dead and its living
Ted Hughes
Image
The Bush administration doesn't particularly like public participation. It makes them look bad.
Ted Hughes
Image
The wolf is living for the earth.
Ted Hughes
Image
The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.
Ted Hughes
Image
It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: Now I hold Creation in my foot. Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly - I kill where I please because it is all mine. There is no sophistry in my body: My manners are tearing off heads - The allotment of death.
Ted Hughes
Image
What happened casually remains -
Ted Hughes
Image
I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.
Ted Hughes
Image
Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering Drowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.
Ted Hughes
Image
Nobody knew the Iron Man had fallen. Night passed.
Ted Hughes
Image
Stilled legendary depth: It was as deep as England. It held Pike too immense to stir, so immense and old That past nightfall I dared not cast.
Ted Hughes
Image
What’s writing really about? It’s about trying to take fuller possession of the reality of your life.
Ted Hughes
Image
The brassy wood-pigeons Bubble their colourful voices, and the sun Rises upon a world well-tried and old.
Ted Hughes
Image
Do as you like with me. I'm your parcel. I have only our address on me. Open me, or readdress me.
Ted Hughes
Image
So the self under the eye lies, Attendant and withdrawn.
Ted Hughes
Image
But who is stronger than death? Me , evidently .
Ted Hughes