The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, / Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, / Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
from the translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám by Edward Fitzgerald.
this one has been with me through many a tear of regret
I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled
from “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S Eliot
The grave’s a fine and private place, / But none, I think, do there embrace.
from Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress”
I am the grass, I cover all
from “Grass” by Carl Sandburg
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
from “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas
these hips are mighty hips. / these hips are magic hips.
i have known them / to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top
from “Homage to My Hips” by Lucille Clifton
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
from “Howl” by Allen Ginsburg
there are so many