Allen Tate Quotes

I carry my unwritten poems in cipher on my face!

No one writes about the emotional things you go through.

We always see the point of an iceberg. So I've always accepted the idea that people - they don't necessarily know everything I am.

So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds, And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

Even ordinary people aren't ordinary, not really. They're filled up with thoughts and feelings that you might never know are there until they suddenly materialise.

The heart of another is a dark forest.

I have all the emotions that everyone has; it just appears that I don't.

No one could suspect the intricate mysteries of her heart.

The sweetest smiles hold the darkest secrets.

In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away

It's a spooky thing to be left alone inside an angry innerverse.

My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.

I feel like I’ve been saving up a lot of things, and I don’t know what.

I search but never find, hurt but never cry

I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them.

I glance into the faces of all these people out for a Sunday stroll, but I'm not seeing eyes and noses and mouths. I'm seeing stories. Every person has a story. All the hopes and dreams. And fears. And secrets. In every face.

I was observing her closely as I talked, and after a while I began to get the impression that she was not, in fact, quite so merry and smiling a girl as I had been led to believe at first. She seemed to be coiled in herself, as though with a secret she was jealously guarding. The deep-blue eyes moved too quickly about the room, never settling or resting on one thing for more than a moment; and over all her face, though so faint that they might not even have been there, those small downward lines of sorrow.

So why did I think about her every second? Why was I so much happier the minute I saw her? I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sure? I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to find out. Guys don't talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.

Be grateful that you only see the outward man. Be grateful that you never see the passions, the hatreds, the jealousies, the malice, the sicknesses... Be grateful you rarely see the frightening truth in people.

I expected the illegible and the deeply buried in me to be read as if carved on my forehead, just as I expected the obvious and the ill-concealed to be hidden from view.

Although I was able to maintain a pleasant expression, I was mentally throwing up in her face.

If you looked down to the bottom of my soul, you would understand fully the source of my longing and – pity me. Even the open, transparent lake has its unknown depths, which no divers know.

I knew then that the person on the outside was only a shell, a presence to be seen and provoked. Inside was the real me, where my tears joined the tears of all the sad people to form the three waterfalls in the night country.