My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose; and all my grief flows from the rift of… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
“WHERE ONCE THE WATERS ON YOUR FACE Where once the waters of your face Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows,… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
“Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which / Shall fall awake when cures and their itch / Raise up this red-eyed earth?” — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
“Clown in the Moon" My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery… — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
When logics die, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments… — 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 Image
There is only one position for an artist anywhere; and that is upright. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
“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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
Do not go gentle into that goodnight, rage, rage against the dying of the light. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
A born writer is born scrofulous; his career is an accident dictated by physical or circumstantial disabilities. — Dylan Thomas Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
