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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
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Rockland
Maine
Nancy Boyd
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Life
Romance
Dog
Longer
Funny
Doe
Tortoises
Live
Redwoods
Men
Parrots
Love
Dogs
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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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Dust in an urn long since, dispersed and dead Is great Apollo and the happier he
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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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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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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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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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That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
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Progress-progress is the dirtiest word in the language-who ever told us- And made us believe it-that to take a step forward was necessarily, was always A good idea?
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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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When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! I had you and I have you now no more.
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Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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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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Cruel of heart, lay down my song. Your reading eyes have done me wrong. Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song written.
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You are loved. If so, what else matters?
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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 make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
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There is no shelter in you anywhere.
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I love humanity but I hate people.
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... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight
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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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