Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away.… — 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
