Novel & Cerita The Poet X Quotes

Xavier (muttering to himself): "I thought I'd buried you, Father. Along with your shadow. But you're still here, aren't you? In every warning. Every flame. Every damned vision." He kneels beside a broken iron pike half-sunk in the earth. A nameplate is scorched beyond recognition. He scrapes at it with his dagger, revealing faded letters—barely legible. Xavier (brushing snow from the stone): "They called it cowardice. A retreat. But the story's never sat right—not in my blood. Not in my bones."

" His voice was mesmerizing. When he recited poetry, it felt as though being drawn into a profound depth. Every word was articulated with exactness, carrying a timeless allure that was utterly captivating. Yet, this was not something she remembered. "What are you reciting?" Yaslyn inquired, perplexed. With an icy chuckle, Xoan retorted, "Different handwriting. Care to guess whose it might be?" A bolt of realization struck Yaslyn. She remembered Quinn mentioning, during a phone call, that he had penned a reply on the back of the envelope. Were these Quinn's words? So, when she confessed her feelings to Quinn, he too had felt the same?

Crickets hum in the background, and the sound of the trees swaying is just enough to make everything feel like it’s swaddled in quiet. We sit in the garden chairs side by side, our mugs resting on the small table between us, our knees brushing every time we shift. Xavier sips slowly, then sets his mug down and turns toward me. “I don’t feel broken anymore,” he says suddenly in a soft tone. “I used to think that was the goal—to fix myself, to somehow stitch the pieces back together and make it all disappear. But I don’t feel that way now. I don’t feel like I have to be someone else just to deserve peace.”

And I couldn’t control my laughter when I recalled how badly he sucked at the language. “You know, I once read a grand quote by someone. It said, ‘Before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet or painter.’” “If you’re lucky enough to be an artist’s muse, they will immortalise you.” I finish for him. It’s one of my favourite quotes of all times. He stares at me with a hint of warmth, his eyes telling me more about him than his words. We both avoid eye contact and glance at the table. I’ve no idea why I’m acting like a ten-year-old.

I snort. What a cliché quote some or other happy drunk motivational speaker concocted when he was at a loss for words. It must be the same asshole who suggested grabbing life by the horns, that winners never quit, and that everything happens for a reason. “Well, keep on dreaming, girl.” Cause that dream is not gonna happen. Luckily, that’s Axel’s shit. Not mine. I fake a smile, “Cheers!” and throw the alcohol down my throat before I bite into a piece of lemon. The sour taste causes goosebumps on my skin.

“Things could’ve gone so much differently, and the knowledge of that fills me with immense guilt… I… I owe you way too much by this point, so it’s high time I started to return all your kindness… Don’t worry, I’ll forever stay by your side… Also, stop being so negative regarding your legs. Miracles aren’t impossible, you know…?” “But even if that miracle doesn’t happen, just have a look at those athletes participating in the Paralympic Games! They’re capable of feats far greater than what regular people are capable of! And remember what Maison said? A hero only needs to have a strong heart, so be sure to set a good example for our children, alright? No more pushing each other away…” conclude

I hate earth because earth has all the problems like people, and this punk is one of them. "Aww, that's mean Adharia! I was just messing around." He said and made an "X" with his fingers and pressed it in his lips. "X?" What's with X? "Yeah, X. X is a nosy alphabet who likes to meddle in maths just like our relatives." He joked. Oh my gosh, I am so done. My life is a scam. This is why I need a therapist. This is why society rejects you. Puke.

I am going nuts by trying to keep her attention on me. "You know, there's my favorite quote from Dead Poets Society…" I began blabbering. In my John Keating voice, I continued. "I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way." I took the brief second from my monologue to look at her. She isn't doing anything--which was both a relief and a panic to me. Who knows what's going on in her mind.

"No, they're not good. And they're more of quotes anyway, they're short." "Okay, so tell me one. Tell me your favourite one." I bit my lip and look at him, contemplating whether I should or shouldn't. I have one in mind, the most recent one. As I watch him driving, his brown curls not falling over his eyes for once because he gelled them, the poem comes out by itself. "She couldn't understand," I begin, whispering, and gulp, still observing him, "why she found comfort in the dark, when all her life she had a fear of darkness."

“Write one word that best describes your heart right now. It doesn’t need to be a full sentence, doesn’t need to be pretty. Just one word.” I went quiet, thinking. “Then maybe that word is ‘heavy.’” Xavier didn’t laugh or judge. Instead, he nodded gently. “That’s a good start. From one word, a thousand can be born.” I lowered my gaze, almost smiling. “I thought you’d say something pretty, like ‘hope’ or ‘light.’” “No,” Xavier answered softly. “The honest word is always more beautiful than the forced one.” I looked at him for a long moment, my heart trembling. “You make me want to write right now.”