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Time can make soft that iron wood.
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
Woods
Make
Time
Wood
Soft
Iron
More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
What terrible fear causes Man to address the Void as Thou?
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not afraid of lawyers as I used to be. They are lambs in wolves' clothing.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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!
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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
If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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
After the feet of beauty fly my own.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
