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Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do Men a longer life than dogs do Dogs a longer life than love does.

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
Love
Dogs
Life
Romance
Dog
Longer
Funny
Doe
Tortoises
Live
Redwoods
Men
Parrots

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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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I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death I am not on his pay-roll.
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Beauty never slumbers All is in her name But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
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That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
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What the customer demands is last year's model, cheaper. To find out what the customer needs you have to understand what the customer is doing as well as he understands it. Then you build what he needs and you educate him to the fact that he needs it.
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it may be said of me by Harper & Brothers, that although I reject their proposals, I welcome their advances.
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Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly That I might eat again, and met thy sneers With deprecations, and thy blows with tears.
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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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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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This have I known always: Love is no more than the wide blossom which the wind assails, than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales Pity me that the heart is slow to learn, that the swift mind beholds at every turn.
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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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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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Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before
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I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.
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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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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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Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
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When you publish something, it is very much as if you pulled your pants down in public. If what you have written is good, nobody can hurt you if what you have written is bad, nobody can help you.
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Evil alone has oil for every wheel.
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