Born: August 11, 1897
Die: February 4, 1970
...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.
At midnight tears Run into your ears.
I don't like quintessential certitude.
Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.
I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!
No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.
Perhaps this very instant is your time.
Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.
Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.
Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.
But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.
The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.
Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.
I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.
True revolutions in art restore more than they destroy.
O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.
The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?
I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.
“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.”
― Dr. Seuss