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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.

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
Honesty
Grief
Tired
Pride
Honest
Truth
Ever
Things
Lied

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I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
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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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A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.
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A grave is such a quiet place.
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Let us not forget such words, and all they mean, as hatred, bitterness, and rancor greed, intolerance, bigotry let us renew our faith and pledge to man, his right to be himself and free.
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Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain-- Dawn will find them still again This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start.
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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.
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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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Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line.
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You are loved. If so, what else matters?
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If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.
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Life must go on I forget just why.
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The younger generation forms a country of its own. It has no geographical boundaries. I've talked with young Hungarians in Budapest, with young Italians in Rome, with young Frenchmen in Paris, and with young people all over. ... These young people are going to do things. They are going to change things.
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Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
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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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Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.
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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
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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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Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either.
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