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They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Edna St. Vincent Millay
Age: 58 †
Born: 1892
Born: February 22
Died: 1950
Died: October 19
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
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Rockland
Maine
Nancy Boyd
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Think
Probably
Thinking
Feeling
Possible
Feelings
Sad
Someone
Longing
Right
Sadness
Much
Miss
Love
Missing
More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.
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You are loved. If so, what else matters?
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A grave is such a quiet place.
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I will come back to you, I swear I will And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.
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We were so wholly one I had not thought That we could die apart. I had not thought That I could move,—and you be stiff and still! That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb! I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof In some firm fabric, woven in and out Your golden filaments in fair design Across my duller fibre.
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But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.
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April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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Although we sometimes did without a few of life's necessities, we rarely lacked for its luxuries.
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After the feet of beauty fly my own.
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Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?
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I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, Someday you must meet my mother.
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What terrible fear causes Man to address the Void as Thou?
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Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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Youth, have no pity leave no farthing here For age to invest in compromise and fear.
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This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.
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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.
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Stranger, pause and look From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!
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