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Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.

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
Feels
Coins
Good
Steal
Would
Stealing
Rarely
Pay
Blood
Happiness
Dripping
Feel
Transcendent

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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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.
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
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If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
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A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
Amy Lowell
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Youth condemns maturity condones
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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Amy Lowell
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When trying to explain anything, I usually find that the Bible, that great collection of magnificent and varied poetry, has said it before in the best possible way.
Amy Lowell
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How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?
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Now you are come! You tremble like a star Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set. Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb And mute, I have no tones to answer.
Amy Lowell
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
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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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
Amy Lowell
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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
Amy Lowell
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So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
Amy Lowell