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

Ted Hughes

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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
Nothing
Make
Leftover
Spat
Spats
Brain

More quotes by Ted Hughes

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The Bush administration doesn't particularly like public participation. It makes them look bad.
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He could not stand. It was not That he could not thrive, he was born With everything but the will – That can be deformed, just like a limb. Death was more interesting to him. Life could not get his attention.
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The jaws' hooked clamp and fangs Not to be changed at this date A life subdued to its instrument.
Ted Hughes
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Applause is the beginning of abuse
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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.
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Fishing provides that connection with the whole living world. It gives you the opportunity of being totally immersed, turning back into yourself in a good way. A form of meditation, some form of communion with levels of yourself that are deeper than the ordinary self.
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The Shell The sea fills my ear with sand and with fear. You may wash out the sand, but never the sound of the ghost of the sea that is haunting me.
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Do as you like with me. I'm your parcel. I have only our address on me. Open me, or readdress me.
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The brassy wood-pigeons Bubble their colourful voices, and the sun Rises upon a world well-tried and old.
Ted Hughes
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I shall also take you forth and carve our names together in a yew tree, haloed with stars.
Ted Hughes
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The sea cries with its meaningless voice, Treating alike its dead and its living
Ted Hughes
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What happened casually remains -
Ted Hughes
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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
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What happens in the heart simply happens.
Ted Hughes
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What’s writing really about? It’s about trying to take fuller possession of the reality of your life.
Ted Hughes
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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
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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
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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
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The wolf is living for the earth.
Ted Hughes
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You are who you choose to be.
Ted Hughes