Patrick Kavanagh

(1904 - 1967 / County Monaghan)

Patrick Kavanagh Quotes

  • ''It is impossible to read the daily press without being diverted from reality. You are full of enthusiasm for the eternal verities—life is worth living, and then out of sinful curiosity you open a newspaper. You are disillusioned and wrecked.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Prose (1967).
    52 person liked.
    10 person did not like.
  • ''Actors are loved because they are unoriginal. Actors stick to their script. The unoriginal man is loved by the mediocrity because this kind of "artistic" expression is something to which the merest five-eighth can climb.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Prose (1967).
    38 person liked.
    12 person did not like.
  • ''Malice is only another name for mediocrity.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Prose (1967).
    25 person liked.
    9 person did not like.
  • ''A sweeping statement is the only statement worth listening to. The critic without faith gives balanced opinions, usually about second-rate writers.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Prose (1967).
    23 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • ''What appears in newspapers is often new but seldom true.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Pruse (1967).
    42 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • ''A man is original when he speaks the truth that has always been known to all good men.''
    Patrick Kavanagh (1905-1967), Irish poet, author. "Signposts," Collected Prose (1967).
    27 person liked.
    5 person did not like.

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Best Poem of Patrick Kavanagh

Memory Of My Father

Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.

That man I saw in Gardner Street
Stumbled on the kerb was one,
He stared at me half-eyed,
I might have been his son.

And I remember the musician
Faltering over his fiddle
In Bayswater, London,
He too set me the riddle.

Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
Seems to say to me:
"I was once your father."

Read the full of Memory Of My Father

Shancoduff

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn