... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
Poetry is not the most important thing in life... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
It is the measure of my individual struggle from darkness toward some measure of light. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
A worm tells summer better than the clock, The slug's a living calendar of days; What shall it tell me if a… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
As I read more and more - and it was not all verse, by any means - my love for the real… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
Out of the sighs a little comes, But not of grief, for I have knocked down that Before the agony; the spirit… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
“On No Work of Words On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody Belly of the rich… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
I liked the taste of beer, its live, white lather, its brass-bright depths, the sudden world through the wet-brown walls of the glass, the… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
“Thousands of miles,' I said. It's Rhosilli, USA. We're going to camp on a bit of rock that wobbles in the winds.” — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought?" 'What have you found,' age answers… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
Do not go gentle into that goodnight, rage, rage against the dying of the light. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
A born writer is born scrofulous; his career is an accident dictated by physical or circumstantial disabilities. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon. She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow.… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
I know in London a Welsh hairdresser who has striven so vehemently to abolish his accent that he sounds like a man speaking with… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true "Poem on His Birthday — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea, see the titbits and topsyturvies, bobs… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
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… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share
