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A grave is such a quiet place.

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
Grave
Graves
Quiet
Place

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Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
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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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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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Beauty never slumbers All is in her name But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
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I am not at all in favor of hard work for its own sake many people who work very hard indeed produce terrible things, and should most certainly not be encouraged.
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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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... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight
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But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
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Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.
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There is no shelter in you anywhere.
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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
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Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.
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Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that but some place set apart for it.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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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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A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.
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Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
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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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