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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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Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Theory
Lines
Politics
Sterility
Art
Freshness
Ends
Gained
Like
Carried
Following
Line

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
Amy Lowell
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
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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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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Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
Amy Lowell
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Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.
Amy Lowell
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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
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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All recurring joy is pain refined.
Amy Lowell
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This is America, This vast, confused beauty, This staring, restless speed of loveliness, Mighty, overwhelming, crude, of all forms, Making grandeur out of profusion, Afraid of no incongruities, Sublime in its audacity, Bizarre breaker of moulds.
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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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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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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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Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England ... Lilacs in dooryards Holding quiet conversation with an early moon Lilacs watching a deserted house ... Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom, You are everywhere.
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 know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Amy Lowell