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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.

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
Lying
Shell
Creed
Shells
Creeds
Atheism

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
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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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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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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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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
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?
Amy Lowell
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Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry Wheels out into the sunlight.
Amy Lowell
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I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed.
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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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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
Amy Lowell
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Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?
Amy Lowell
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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Amy Lowell
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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
Amy Lowell
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Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
Amy Lowell
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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
Amy Lowell