Natural, hell! What was it Chaucer Said once about the long toil that goes like blood to the poems making? Leave it to nature and the verse sprawls, Limp as bindweed, if it break at all Life's iron crust Man,… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
The furies are at home in the mirror; it is their address. Even the clearest water, if deep enough can drown. Never think to surprise them. Your face approaching ever so friendly is the white flag they ignore. There is… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
Is there a place here for the spirit ? Is there time on this brief platform for anything other than mind 's failure to… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
Now the power of the imagination is a unifying power, hence the force of metaphor; and the poet is the supreme manipulator of metaphor...… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
The deep spaces between stars , Fathomless as the cold shadow His mind cast. — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
To live in Wales is to be conscious at dusk of the spilled blood that went into the making of the wild sky — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
Deliver me from the long drought of the mind. Let leaves from the deciduous Cross fall on us, washing us clean, turning our autumn… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
Art is recuperation from time. I lie back convalescing upon the prospect of a harvest already at hand. — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
I'm obviously not orthodox, I don't know how many real poets have ever been orthodox. — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
I have been all men known to history, Wondering at the world and at time passing; I have seen evil, and the light blessing… — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow. — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
Imaginative truth is the most immediate way of presenting ultimate reality to a human being... ultimate reality is what we call God. — R. S. Thomas Copy Share Image
