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The things I have are nameless, old and true they may not be named few may live and know.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Nameless
Named
Knowledge
True
May
Live
Things

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
Hilda Doolittle
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Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . .
Hilda Doolittle
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But beauty is set apart, beauty is cast by the sea, a barren rock, beauty is set about with wrecks of ships.
Hilda Doolittle
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(Those women whom the distaff no longer claims nor spun cloth) driven made, mad, mad by Bacchus.
Hilda Doolittle
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
Hilda Doolittle
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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
Hilda Doolittle
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We are voyagers, discoverers of the not-known, the unrecorded we have no map possibly we will reach haven, heaven.
Hilda Doolittle
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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
Hilda Doolittle
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She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.
Hilda Doolittle
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
Hilda Doolittle
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No poetic phantasy but a biological reality, a fact: I am an entity like bird, insect, plant or sea-plant cell I live I am alive.
Hilda Doolittle
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I myself have seen the floating ships And nothing will ever be the same The shouts, The harrowing voices within the house. I stand apart with an army: My mind is graven with ships.
Hilda Doolittle
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
Hilda Doolittle
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The race may or may not be to the swift, but tell me, is it likely that the fight will be entrusted to the dead?
Hilda Doolittle
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Love has no charm when Love is swept to earth: you'd make a lop-winged god, frozen and contrite, of god up-darting, winged for passionate flight.
Hilda Doolittle
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
Hilda Doolittle
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
Hilda Doolittle
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The fallen hazel-nuts, Stripped late of their green sheaths, The grapes, red-purple, Their berries Dripping with wine, Pomegranates already broken, And shrunken fig, And quinces untouched, I bring thee as offering.
Hilda Doolittle
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For you are abstract, making no mistake, slurring no word in the rhythm you make, the poem, writ in the air.
Hilda Doolittle
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
Hilda Doolittle