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Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.
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
Beauty
Bare
Though
Massive
Away
Stone
Fortunate
Stones
Looked
Sandal
Heard
Euclid
Alone
Sandals
More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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Time can make soft that iron wood.
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I am not afraid of lawyers as I used to be. They are lambs in wolves' clothing.
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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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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
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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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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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Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
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Life has no friend.
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Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife, the years from off your life, my friend! the years that death takes off my life, he'll take from off the other end!
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Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
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Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
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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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All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.
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Beauty is whatever gives joy.
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I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.
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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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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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