Quotes by Dylan Thomas

In my craft or sullen artExercised in the still nightWhen only the moon ragesAnd the lovers lie abedWith all their griefs in their arms,I labour by singing lightNot for ambition or breadOr the strut and trade of charmsOn the ivory stagesBut for the common wagesOf their most secret heart.Not for the proud man apartFrom the raging moon I writeOn these spindrift pagesNor for the towering deadWith their nightingales and psalmsBut for the lovers, their armsRound the griefs of the ages,Who pay no praise or wagesNor heed my craft or art.

My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.

And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jims Aunt, Miss. Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, Would you like anything to read?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.

I do not need any friends. I prefer enemies. They are better company and their feelings towards you are always genuine.

Man be my metaphor’,

Though lovers be lost love shall not.

Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon.She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow.Hold my hand, he said, and then: why are your putting the sheet over my face?

It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats.

Come on up, boys-Im dead.

I believe in New Yorkers. Whether theyve ever questioned the dream in which they live, I wouldnt know, because I wont ever dare ask that question.

My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time with my eyes hanging out.

Somebodys boring me I think its me.

Do not go gentle into that good night Old age should burn and rave at close of day Rage rage against the dying of the light.

The function of posterity is to look after itself.

Hands have not tears to flow.

A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe helps to extend everyones knowledge of himself and the world around him.

Though lovers be lost, love shall not.

He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.