Truth Telling Quotes (260 quotes)
Poems about truth
Here are our ten suggestions. In this Elizabethan sonnet, Sidney acknowledges that he truly loves the woman he is to write about, and wants to convey that true love through the poetry he writes. Forget books, forget study: just be true to yourself. Look inside and write what you find there. William Shakespeare, Sonnet Truth grows, and is an organic thing rather than a solid object which remains the same.
She earned degrees from Brandeis and the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Twice a finalist for the National Book Award, Ostriker has published numerous volumes of poetry, including Waiting for the Light , Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation.
I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? And so, as kinsmen met a-night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names. Other force—may be presumed to move— This—then—is best for confidence— When oldest Cedars swerve—. The Face of Truth is covered with a brilliant golden orb. My head knocks against the stars. My feet are on the hilltops.
Sonnet 138: When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth - Poem by William Shakespeare
I can't figure out a way to tell him. Soon as I find the words, I know this would be the end. I don't want to lose you, but deep inside I feel like I already have. Because if I tell you the truth, it is only more and more damage. Lying from the bottom of my feet to the crown of my head. Losing Sleep. Over what I did.
Some say love's a little boy, And some say it's a bird, Some say it makes the world go round, Some say that's absurd, And when I asked the man next door, Who looked as if he knew, His wife got very cross indeed, And said it wouldn't do. Does it look like a pair of pyjamas, Or the ham in a temperance hotel? Does its odour remind one of llamas, Or has it a comforting smell? Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is, Or soft as eiderdown fluff? Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges? O tell me the truth about love.