Mother (fragment)...You asked me if I would be sad when it happenedand I am sad. But the iris I moved from your housenow hold in the dusty dry fists of their rootsgreen knives and forks as if waiting for dinner, as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that. Were it not for the way you taught me to lookat the world, to see the life at play in everything, I would have to be lonely forever. Ted Kooser
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you,...
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Pablo Neruda
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
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Pablo Neruda
We love the things we love for what they are.
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Robert Frost
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhereI go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my...
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E.e. Cummings
Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.
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Plato
More Quotes By Ted Kooser
Valentine's Day is the poet's holiday.
When she left me I stood out in the thunderstorm, hoping to be destroyed by lightning. It missed, first left, then right.
A happy birthdaythis evening, I sat by an open windowand read till the light was gone and the bookwas no more than a part of the darkness. I could easily have switched on a lamp, but I wanted to ride the day down into night,...
MOTHER — By Ted KooserMid April already, and the wild plumsbloom at the roadside, a lacy whiteagainst the exuberant, jubilant greenof new grass and the dusty, fading black of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet, only the delicate, star-petaledblossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume. You...
Mother (fragment)...You asked me if I would be sad when it happenedand I am sad. But the iris I moved from your housenow hold in the dusty dry fists of their rootsgreen knives and forks as if waiting for dinner, as if spring were a...
