Dead Poets Society Quotes

So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.

No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

When you read, don't just consider what the author thinks, consider what you think

If you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - Carpe - hear it? – Carpe, Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.

But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

We don't read and write poetry because its cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is full of passion.

Carpe Diem,” Keating whispered loudly. “Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.

And medecine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for.

Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

Oh captain my captain

I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.

Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular.

I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me. A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain. His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling. “Truth, truth.” Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face, as you wail and cry and scream.

You must strive to find your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

but only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'twas always thus and always thus will be.

Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? And that's your worse fear.

Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man." Keating: "But only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be.

... there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately... I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life... to put rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, gotta do more, gotta be more!

No, I've been calm all my life! If I don't do something, it's gonna kill me!

Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

When you read, don't consider only what the author thinks, but take time to consider what you think.

Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push at it, stretch it, it will never be enough. You kick at it, beat at it, it will never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment you leave dying.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold!

They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

You can't expect everybody to think of you all the time. Nobody knows you. And you never talk to anyone!

TODD: Well, listen, Neil. I-I appreciate this concern, but I-I'm not like you.All right? You, you, you say things and people listen. I'm, I'm not like that. NEIL: Don't you think you could be? TODD: No! I--I, I don't know, but that's not the point. The, the, the point is that there's nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine. All right? NEIL: No. TODD: What do you mean, "no"? NEIL: No.

College will probably destroy your love for poetry. Hours of boring analysis, dissection, and criticism will see to that. College will also expose you to all manner of literature—much of it transcendent works of magic that you must devour; some of it utter dreck that you must avoid like the plague.

Carpe Diem

Because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world.

I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you -- I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "That's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

How do we, like Walt, permit our own true natures to speak? How do we strip ourselves of prejudices, habits, influences? The answer, my dear lads, is that we must constantly endeavor to find a new point of view.

This is a battle, boys,' he cried. 'War! You are souls at a critical juncture. Either you will succumb to the will of academic hoi polloi, and the fruit will die on the vine— or you will triumph as individuals.

savor language and words because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world.

Jeśli chcesz wychować zagorzałego ateistę, musisz udzielać mu surowych lekcji religii. To zawsze owocuje dobrymi skutkami.

We are dreaming of tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t coming; we are dreaming of a glory that we don’t really want. We are dreaming of a new day when the new day’s here already. We are running from the battle when it’s one that must be fought.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion!

Ah," McAllister laughed, "free thinkers at seventeen!

Doğrular, her zaman insanın ayaklarını açıkta bırakan bir battaniye gibidir.

But there must be poetry and we must stop to notice it in even the simplest acts of living or we will have wasted much of what life has to offer.

How difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

The boys had seized the cave, and in it they’d found a home away from Welton, away from parents, teachers, and friends—a place where they could be people they never dreamed they’d be. The Dead Poets Society was alive and thriving and ready to seize the day.

They danced wildly in the forest, swaying with the tall trees and the howling wind.

Kopar goncaları henüz vakit varken bugün Anlamazsın zaman nasıl kanatlanır, uçar gider O gonca sana gülücükler saçarken bugün Gelince yarın, sararır solar, boynunu büker.

They danced wildly in the forest, swaying with the tall trees and the howling wind.

Cuando era niño, creía que los padres querían a sus hijos instintivamente. Era lo que me enseñaban en el colegio; y yo acabé creyéndomelo. Pero mis padres parecen reservar todo su amor a mi hermano.

Beni örten geceden, Bir uçtan diğerine uzanan zifiri karanlıktan Teşekkür ediyorum tanrı denene Asla zaptedilemeyen ruhum için!

Medicine, law, banking--these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for! - Mr. Keating, Dead Poet’s Society.

Oh, come on, Cameron,” Charlie laughed, “don’t you get anything?

Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

El hombre nunca ha sido tan libre como cuando sueña.

But we'll get through. Somehow we always do.

La poesía puede estar oculta en los objetos o las acciones más cotidianas, pero nunca, nunca deber ser común.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

His resolve always crumbled under the threats of guilt and punishment.

medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. but poetry, romance, love, beauty? these are what we stay alive for!

We are the music makers

I always thought education was learning to think for yourself," Keating said. Nolan laughed. "At these boys' ages? Not on your life! Tradition John! Discipline." He patted Keating on the shoulder patronizingly. "Prepare them for college, and the rest will take care of itself.

You must strive for your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Why be resigned to that? Risk walking new ground.

Carpe Diem. Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

Teaching is seeing the world. The new world. Seeing a student like you take root, ready to flower and bloom any day.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.

because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking—these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

La verdad es como una manta que nos deja los pies fríos. Ya puede uno tirar de ella hacia sí en todos los sentidos, que nunca nos cubrirá del todo. Sacudidla, tirad de ella, mas nunca será suficiente. Desde el día en que se viene al mundo, llorando, a aquel a quien se le entrega, agonizante, no puede hacer más que cubrirse con ella la cabeza y gemir, llorar o aullar.

Oh Captain, My Captain!

Carpe diem, Todd!

Most of those gentlemen are fertilizing daffodils now!

A woman is a cathedral, boys. Worship one at every chance you get.

The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being so very much fun if you don't mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don't sing all the time The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn't half bad if it isn't you Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs and having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally 'living it up' Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling mortician

don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared—anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired— makes us feel a bit immortal.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

I stand on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly force ourselves to look at things differently. The world looks different from up here.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

You know what Dad called me when I was growing up? ‘Five ninety-eight.’ That’s what all the chemicals in the human body would be worth if you bottled them raw and sold them. He told me that was all I’d ever be worth unless I worked every day to improve myself. Five ninety-eight.

Hey, everybody, I got the part! I'm going to play Puck." He opened the door to the room and saw Todd sitting there. "Hey, I'm Puck!" "Puck you! Pipe down," yelled a voice down the hall.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking - these are necesseary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours

It's god! He says we should have girls at Welton.

The light of knowledge shall be passed from old to young,

It is not certain whether the effects of totalitarianism upon verse need be so deadly as its effects on prose. There is a whole series of converging reasons why it is somewhat easier for a poet than a prose writer to feel at home in an authoritarian society.[...]what the poet is saying- that is, what his poem "means" if translated into prose- is relatively unimportant, even to himself. The thought contained in a poem is always simple, and is no more the primary purpose of the poem than the anecdote is the primary purpose of the picture. A poem is an arrangement of sounds and associations, as a painting is an arrangement of brushmarks. For short snatches, indeed, as in the refrain of a song, poetry can even dispense with meaning altogether.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

There was a restlessness between her ribs, itching and pulling at her heart. A feeling that she was meant to do much more. She and Roxy had gone to see Dead Poets Society a couple years ago, and afterward that quote from Robin Williams’s character had echoed endlessly in Luna’s head: “Make your lives extraordinary.

And don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared—anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.

And don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared —anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.

The vitality of the ordinary members of society is dependent on its Outsiders. Many Outsiders unify themselves, realize themselves as poets or saints. Others remain tragically divided and unproductive, but even they supply soul-energy to society; it is their strenuousness that purifies thought and prevents the bourgeois world from foundering under its own dead-weight; they are society’s spiritual dynamos.

What it demonstrates is how difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others. If any of you think you would have marched differently, then ask yourself why you were clapping. Lads, there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular. As Frost said, “‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,/And that has made all the difference.

What happened? It took Gibbon six volumes to describe the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, so I shan’t embark on that. But thinking about this almost incredible episode does tell one something about the nature of civilisation. It shows that however complex and solid it seems, it is actually quite fragile. It can be destroyed. 

What are its enemies?
 
Well, first of all fear — fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops. And fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything or change anything. The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence. And then exhaustion, the feeling of hopelessness which can overtake people even with a high degree of material prosperity. 

There is a poem by the modern Greek poet, Cavafy, in which he imagines the people of an antique town like Alexandria waiting every day for the barbarians to come and sack the city. Finally the barbarians move off somewhere else and the city is saved; but the people are disappointed — it would have been better than nothing. Of course, civilisation requires a modicum of material prosperity—

What civilization needs:

confidence in the society in which one lives, belief in its philosophy, belief in its laws, and confidence in one’s own mental powers. The way in which the stones of the Pont du Gard are laid is not only a triumph of technical skill, but shows a vigorous belief in law and discipline. Vigour, energy, vitality: all the civilisations—or civilising epochs—have had a weight of energy behind them. People sometimes think that civilisation consists in fine sensibilities and good conversations and all that. These can be among the agreeable results of civilisation, but they are not what make a civilisation, and a society can have these amenities and yet be dead and rigid.

We are the music makers And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lonely sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World losers and world forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world, forever, it seems. With wonderful deathless ditties We build up with world’s great cities, And out of a fabulous story We fashion an empire’s glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new song’s measure Can trample an empire down. We in the ages lying, In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth.

هیگر پسرها را تماشا کرد و پس از لحظه ای پرسید: "آقایون میکس و اورستریت و اندرسن، شما اصولا چپ دست اید؟" "خیر، آقا" "پس چرا با دست چپ غذا می خورید؟" پسرها به یکدیگر نگاه کردند. ناکس از طرف جمع توضیح داد: "فکر کردیم بد نیست که عادت های قدیمی رو ترک کنیم آقا." "آقای اورستریت، مگه عادت های قدیمی چه عیبی دارند؟" ناکس تذکر داد: "زندگی بدون تفکر و ابتکار رو تثبیت می کنند. ذهن آدم رو هم محدود می کنند." هیگر کاملا جدی گفت: "آقای اورستریت، بهتون توصیه می کنم کمتر به فکر ترک عادت های قدیمی باشید و بیشتر به عادت های خوب برای درس خوندن فکر کنید. متوجه منظورم هستید که؟

The art of fiction has not changed much since prehistoric times. The formula for telling a powerful story has remained the same: create a strong character, a person of great strengths, capable of deep emotions and decisive action. Give him a weakness. Set him in conflict with another powerful character -- or perhaps with nature. Let his exterior conflict be the mirror of the protagonist's own interior conflict, the clash of his desires, his own strength against his own weakness. And there you have a story. Whether it's Abraham offering his only son to God, or Paris bringing ruin to Troy over a woman, or Hamlet and Claudius playing their deadly game, Faust seeking the world's knowledge and power -- the stories that stand out in the minds of the reader are those whose characters are unforgettable. To show other worlds, to describe possible future societies and the problems lurking ahead, is not enough. The writer of science fiction must show how these worlds and these futures affect human beings. And something much more important: he must show how human beings can and do literally create these future worlds. For our future is largely in our own hands. It doesn't come blindly rolling out of the heavens; it is the joint product of the actions of billions of human beings. This is a point that's easily forgotten in the rush of headlines and the hectic badgering of everyday life. But it's a point that science fiction makes constantly: the future belongs to us -- whatever it is. We make it, our actions shape tomorrow. We have the brains and guts to build paradise (or at least try). Tragedy is when we fail, and the greatest crime of all is when we fail even to try. Thus science fiction stands as a bridge between science and art, between the engineers of technology and the poets of humanity.