Quote

What is the flesh and blood compounded ofBut a few moments in the life of time?This prowling of the cells, litigious love,Wears the long claw of flesh-arguing crime.

Allen Tate

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Allen Tate
Age: 79 †
Born: 1899
Born: November 19
Died: 1979
Died: February 9
Author
Literary Critic
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Winchester
Kentucky
John Orley Allen Tate
Time
Wears
Love
Cells
Life
Arguing
Flesh
Crime
Prowling
Blood
Compounded
Moments
Claw
Long
Claws

More quotes by Allen Tate

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There is probably nothing wrong with art for art's sake if we take the phrase seriously, and not take it to mean the kind of poetry written in England forty years ago.
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I am not ridiculing verbal mechanisms, dreams, or repressions as origins of poetry all three of them and more besides may have a great deal to do with it.
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Experience means conflict, our natures being what they are, and conflict means drama.
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The only real evidence that any critic may bring before his gaze is the finished poem.
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But in our age the appeal to authority is weak, and I am of my age.
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Genetic theories, I gather, have been cherished academically with detachment.
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we know our end A packet of worm-seed, a garden of spent tissues.
Allen Tate
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Poets, in their way, are practical men they are interested in results.
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Religion is the sole technique for the validating of values.
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Yevgeny Yevtushenko is a ham actor, not a poet.
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What was I saying? An Egyptian king Once touched long fingers, which are not anything.
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How does one happen to write a poem: where does it come from? That is the question asked by the psychologists or the geneticists of poetry.
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The day's at end and there's nowhere to go, Draw to the fire, even this fire is dying Get up and once again politely lying Invite the ladies toward the mistletoe.
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The torrent of the reaching shade Broke shadow into all its parts, What then had been of shadow made Found exigence in fits and starts.
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Dark accurate plunger down the successive knell Of arch on arch, where ogives burst a red Reverberance of hail upon the dead Thunder like an exploding crucible!
Allen Tate
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The innocent mansion of a panther's heart!
Allen Tate
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We are afraid that we have not lived. We are not afraid of dying.
Allen Tate
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There's precious little to say between day and dark, Perhaps a few words on the implacable will Of time sailing like a magic barque Or something as fine for the amenities.
Allen Tate
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A poem may be an instance of morality, of social conditions, of psychological history it may instance all its qualities, but never one of them alone, nor any two or three never less than all.
Allen Tate
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The dusk runs down the lane driven like hail Far off a precise whistle is escheat To the dark and then the towering weak and pale.
Allen Tate