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Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their of courses Are not quite the same.

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
Killing
Horse
Millions
Quite
Horses
Courses
Bent
Upon
Soldiers
War
Fifteen
Soldier

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
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A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
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I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed.
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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.
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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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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.
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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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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
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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.
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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.
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
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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 should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.
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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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