Quote

My! ain't men blinder'n moles?

Amy Lowell

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Blinder
Moles
Men

More quotes by Amy Lowell

Image
Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
Image
In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
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
Image
Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
Image
When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.
Amy Lowell
Image
If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
Amy Lowell
Image
My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.
Amy Lowell
Image
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
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
Image
Without poetry the soul and heart of man starves and dies.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
Amy Lowell
Image
Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
Amy Lowell
Image
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
Amy Lowell
Image
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
Amy Lowell
Image
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
Amy Lowell