Quote by Abbas Kiarostami
Poetry always runs away from you - its very difficult to grasp it,

Poetry always runs away from you – its very difficult to grasp it, and every time you read it, depending on your conditions, you will have a different grasp of it. Whereas with a novel, once you have read it, you have grasped it. – Abbas Kiarostami

Other quotes by Abbas Kiarostami

Religion works on some people but not on everyone, because it says, Stop thinking and accept what I tell you. Thats not valid for people who want to think and reflect. – Abbas Kiarostami

Category:
Religion
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I would say that no film is apolitical. There are politics in all films. Any film that is anchored in a society, any film that deals with humanity is necessarily political. – Abbas Kiarostami

Category:
Politics
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Other Quotes from
Poetry
category

So now I have a collection of poetry by Aaron Neville and I give it to people I want to share it with. Id like to publish it someday. – Aaron Neville

Category:
Poetry

What actually makes poetry poetry is of course impossible to define. We recognize it when we hear it, when we see it, but we cant define it. – Robert Morgan

Category:
Poetry

The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese. – Gilbert K. Chesterton

Category:
Poetry

When truth has no burning, then it is philosophy, when it gets burning from the heart, it becomes poetry. – Muhammad Iqbal

Category:
Poetry

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When virtue is lost, benevolence appears, when benevolence is lost right conduct appears, when right conduct is lost, expedience appears. Expediency is the mere shadow of right and truth it is the beginning of disorder. – Lao Tzu

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We have often been attracted to the story of the other, the outcast. And he and I just loved working together, so it just kept happening, and our relationship is completely bound up with our work. We enjoy each others art. – Julie Taymor

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Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass. – John Steinbeck

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