Dylan Thomas quotes: wise famous quotes, sayings and quotations by Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas Famous Quotes & Sayings

Discover top inspirational quotes from Dylan Thomas on Wise Famous Quotes.

Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies.

My birthday began with the water -
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name.

Rebel against the flesh and bone,
The word of the blood, the wily skin,
And the maggot no man can slay.

All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.

You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!

Teach me the love that is evergreen after the fall leaved/Grave

Man be my metaphor',

The crisp path through the field in this December snow, in the deep dark, where we trod the buried grass like ghosts on dry toast.

Love is the last light spoken.

These are but dreaming men. Breathe, and they fade.

There shall be corals in your beds,
There shall be serpents in your tides,
Till all our sea-faiths die.

And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days ...

Let the dry eyes perceive
Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses
By the curve of the nude mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.

And books which told me everything about the wasp, except why.

Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

I have just had eighteen whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record.

Wales: The land of my fathers. My fathers can have it!

In the beginning was the word, the word
That from the solid bases of the light
Abstracted all the letters of the void ...

An alcoholic is someone you don't like, who drinks as much as you do.

And on seesaw Sunday nights, I'd woo who ever I would with my wicked eye!

Poetry is not the most important thing in life ... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking sweets.

Life is a terrible thing, thank God.

Raging against the dying of the light - used in The Book of Peach

Speak, then, o body, shout aloud, And break my only mind from chains To go where ploughing's ended.

Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which / Shall fall awake when cures and their itch / Raise up this red-eyed earth?

I hold a beast, an angel and a madman within me.

Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.

Call me Dolores. Like they do in the stories.

In the beginning was the secret brain.
The brain was celled and soldered in the thought

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer

Mr. Kipling stands for everything in this cankered world which I would wish were otherwise.

Do not go gentle into the good night. Old age should burn and rage at close of day.

The function of posterity is to look after itself.

When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.

The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth ...

One: I am a Welshman; two: I am a drunkard; three: I am a lover of the human race, especially of women.

Rage, rage against the dying light

Why do men think you can pick love up and re-light it like a candle? Women know when love is over.

I believe in New Yorkers. Whether they've ever questioned the dream in which they live, I wouldn't know, because I won't ever dare ask that question.

The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.

When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

The moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...

Sleeping as quiet as death, side by wrinkled side, toothless, salt and brown, like two old kippers in a box.

Dark is a way and light is a place,
Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true
Poem on His Birthday

Cold beer is bottled God.

And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain ...

I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.

It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats.

Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart; Push in their tides.

This world is half the devil's and my own, / Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl / And curling round the bud that forks her eye.

And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.

It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.

I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.

I sang in my chains like the sea

The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps ... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.

Hands have not tears to flow.

But time has set its maggot on their track.

I do not need any friends. I prefer enemies. They are better company and their feelings towards you are always genuine.

My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.

Thousands of miles,' I said. It's Rhosilli, USA. We're going to camp on a bit of rock that wobbles in the winds.

The condition of the world today is such that most writers feel they cannot truthfully be "comic" about it.

Never be lucid, never state, if you would be regarded great.

The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith

He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.

There is only one position for an artist anywhere; and that is upright.

Great is the hand that holds dominion over man by a scribbled name.

Come on up, boys
-I'm dead.

I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

We are not wholly bad or good, who live our lives under Milk Wood.

A truly comic, invented world must live at the same time as the world we live in.

To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.

An ugly, lovely town ... crawling, sprawling ... by the side of a long and splendid curving shore. This sea-town was my world.

Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels ...

Join the army and see the next world.

Make gentle the life of this world.

Poetry is what makes my toenails twinkle.

Washington isn't a city, it's an abstraction.

Before you let the sun in, mind he wipes his shoes.

[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.

Love drips & gathers,
but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores ...
-Thomas, The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower.

The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.

But oh, San Francisco! It is and has everything - you wouldn't think that such a place as San Francisco could exist.

It is the measure of my individual struggle from darkness toward some measure of light.

The closer I move
To death, one man through his sundered hulks,
The louder the sun blooms
And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults ...

Families, like countries, take their prophets unkindly, but a verse-speaker in the house is dishonor to be hooted.