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On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns maturity condones.

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
Gracious
Neck
Necks
Maturity
Condones
Enterprise
Sparkles
Youth
Condemns
Young
Sparkle
Men
Gems

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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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
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.
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Great emotion always tends to become rhythmic, and out of that tendency the forms of art have been evolved. Art becomes artificial only when the forms take precedence over the emotion.
Amy Lowell
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
Amy Lowell
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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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I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed.
Amy Lowell
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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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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My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.
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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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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This is war: Boys flung into a breach Like shoveled earth And old men, Broken, Driving rapidly before crowds of people In a glitter of silly decorations. Behind the boys And the old men, Life weeps, And shreds her garments To the blowing winds.
Amy Lowell
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
Amy Lowell