Quote by Robert Fitzgerald
Poetry is at least an elegance and at most a revelation. - Robert

Poetry is at least an elegance and at most a revelation. – Robert Fitzgerald

Other quotes by Robert Fitzgerald

The question is how to bring a work of imagination out of one language that was just as taken-for-granted by the persons who used it as our language is by ourselves. Nothing strange about it. – Robert Fitzgerald

Category:
Imagination
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There must of course be a relationship between translating and making poems of your own, but what it is I just dont know. – Robert Fitzgerald

Category:
relationship
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The test of a given phrase would be: Is it worthy to be immortal? To make a beeline for something. Thats worthy of being immortal and is immortal in English idiom. I guess Ill split is not going to be immortal and is excludable, therefore excluded. – Robert Fitzgerald

Category:
Translation
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Other Quotes from
Poetry
category

A lot of people think, Ill give acting or poetry or filmmaking a try. And if it doesnt work out Ill go get a law degree, do something else thats more practical. For me I went the reverse way. I lived the back-up plan. – Brit Marling

Category:
Poetry

The poetry community here has been extraordinarily welcoming. – George Murray

Category:
Poetry

Poetry is life distilled. – Gwendolyn Brooks

Category:
Poetry

Well – I started writing – probably in the early 60s and by say 65-66 I had read most of the poetry that had been published – certainly in the 20 years prior to that. – Robert Adamson

Category:
Poetry

Random Quotes

Therell always be working people in my poems because I grew up with them, and I am a poet of memory. – Philip Levine

Category:
Poetry

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart. – Helen Keller

Category:
best

A hundred wagon loads of thoughts will not pay a single ounce of debt. – Italian Proverb

Category:
Thought

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close, and hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, cries out, Where is it? – Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Category:
Atheism