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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.

Amy Lowell

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Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Descending
Skulls
Hate
Place
Ravening
Beaks
Vulture

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.
Amy Lowell
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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.
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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
Amy Lowell
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I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.
Amy Lowell
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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
Amy Lowell
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Youth condemns maturity condones
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
Amy Lowell
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If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Amy Lowell
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I must be mad, or very tired, When the curve of a blue bay beyond a railroad track Is shrill and sweet to me like the sudden springing of a tune, And the sight of a white church above thin trees in a city square Amazes my eyes as though it were the Parthenon.
Amy Lowell
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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
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On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns maturity condones.
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
Amy Lowell
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
Amy Lowell
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Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.
Amy Lowell
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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
Amy Lowell
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Polyphonic prose is a kind of free verse, except that it is still freer. Polyphonic makes full use of cadence, rime, alliteration, assonance.
Amy Lowell
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Without poetry the soul and heart of man starves and dies.
Amy Lowell