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And I walked, I walked through the light air I moved with the morning.
Theodore Roethke
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Theodore Roethke
Age: 55 †
Born: 1908
Born: May 25
Died: 1963
Died: August 1
Poet
Teacher
Writer
Saginaw
Michigan
Walks
Strolling
Morning
Hiking
Light
Walked
Wander
Moved
Air
Walking
Sauntering
Journey
Trekking
More quotes by Theodore Roethke
Let others probe the mystery if they can.Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will -The right thing happens to the happy man.
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By daily dying, I have come to be.
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I am overwhelmed by the beautiful disorder of poetry, the eternal virginity of words.
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A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.
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What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
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All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.
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In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
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Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.
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The living all assemble! What's the cue?-- Do what the clumsy partner wants to do!
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I have gone into the waste lonely places
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Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
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Love is not love until love's vulnerable.
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What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?
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The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows. We walk aware of what is far and close. Here distance is familiar as a friend. The feud we kept with space comes to an end.
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I came where the river Ran over stones My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.
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Who rise from flesh to spirit know the fall: The word outleaps the world, and light is all.
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And soon a branch, part of a hidden scene,The leafy mind, that long was tightly furled,Will turn its private substance into green,And young shoots spread upon our inner world.
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But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin from their dark to sing in my sleep.
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The self says, I am The heart says, I am less The spirit says, you are Nothing.
Theodore Roethke