Black was the without eye Black the within tongue Black was the heart Black the liver, black the lungs Unable to suck in light Black the blood in its loud tunnel Black the bowels packed in furnace Black too the muscles Striving to pull out into the light Black the nerves, black the brain With its tombed visions Black also the soul, the huge stammer Of the cry that, swelling, could not Pronounce its sun. Ted Hughes
Some Similar Quotes
  1. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. - Unknown
  2. By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness - Pablo Neruda
  3. We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won't do harm - yes, choose a place where you won't do very... - E.m. Forster
  4. How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also If I am to be whole - C.g. Jung
  5. I wonder if that's how darkness wins, by convincing us to trap it inside ourselves, instead of emptying it out. I don't want it to win. - Jasmine Warga
More Quotes By Ted Hughes
  1. The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't...
  2. He could not stand. It was not That he could not thrive, he was born With everything but the will —That can be deformed, just like a limb. Death was more interesting to him. Life could not get his attention.
  3. Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering Drowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.
  4. The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain — and the physical body, so to speak, of poetry, is the treatment by which the poet tries to reconcile that pain with the world.
  5. I think it was Milosz, the Polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world where people actually die. But...
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