Poetry is an affair of sanity, of seeing things as they are, to recreate the familiar, eternalizing the poet's own perception in… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
I am not sure, once a poet has found out what has been written already, and how it was written - once,… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
Only one ship is seeking us, a black-Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her backA huge and birdless silence. In her wakeNo waters breed or break. — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
And immediately Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing,… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
“Once I am sure there's nothing going on I step inside, letting the door thud shut. Another church: matting, seats, and stone, And little… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
Life is first boredom, then fear. Whether or not we use it, it goes, And leaves what something hidden from us chose, age, and… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
“It never worked for me. Something to do with violence A long way back, and wrong rewards, And arrogant eternity.” — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
Seriously, I think it is a grave fault in life that so much time is wasted in social matters, because it not only takes… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
So many things I had thought forgotten Return to my mind with stranger pain: Like letters that arrive addressed to someone Who left the… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
“One of the quainter quirks of life is that we shall never know who dies on the same day as we do ourselves.” — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
“I sit in my room like Miss Havisham, about whom I have been reading this week. Better the Dickens you know than the Dickens… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
“When I throw back my head and howl People (women mostly) say But you've always done what you want, You always get your way… — Philip Larkin Copy Share Image
