Quote

Upon this gifted age, in its dark hour falls from the sky a meteoric shower of facts They lie unquestioned, uncombined. Wisdom enough to leech us of our ill is daily spun, But there exists no loom to weave it into fabric.

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
Translator
Writer
Rockland
Maine
Nancy Boyd
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Enough
Wisdom
Fabric
Unquestioned
Dark
Falls
Leeches
Hours
Ill
Loom
Age
Educational
Weave
Lying
Exists
Spun
Upon
Daily
Shower
Fall
Sky
Showers
Facts
Hour
Gifted
Leech

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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
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I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity Came down and settled over me
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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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One things there's no getting by, I've been a wicked girl, Says I... But, if I can't be sorry I might as well be glad !
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I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death I am not on his pay-roll.
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A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.
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What terrible fear causes Man to address the Void as Thou?
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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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When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most
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I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.
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If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.
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Time can make soft that iron wood.
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Oh, children, growing up to be Adventurers into sophistry, Forbear, forbear to be of those That read the rood to learn the rose.
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Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
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My candle burns at both ends it will not last the night but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!
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Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
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Not poppy, nor mandrake, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou owest yesterday.
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Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that but some place set apart for it.
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It's not true that life is one damn thing after another it is one damn thing over and over.
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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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