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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Taught
Wisdom
Perfect
Woman
Women
Love
Accept
Accepting

More quotes by 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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Long hours trail in their purple and long years are lost in just this moment while our souls are near, our mouths separate.
Hilda Doolittle
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Lift up our eyes to you? no, God, we stare and stare, upon a nearer thing that greets us here, Death, violent and near.
Hilda Doolittle
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
Hilda Doolittle
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
Hilda Doolittle
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Dance until the earth dance.
Hilda Doolittle
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In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.
Hilda Doolittle
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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 heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
Hilda Doolittle
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Maid of the luminous grey-eyes, Mistress of honey and marble implacable white thighs and Goddess, chaste daughter of Zeus.
Hilda Doolittle
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Take what the old-church found in Mithra's tomb, candle and script and bell, take what the new-church spat upon and broke and shattered.
Hilda Doolittle
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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
Hilda Doolittle
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The whole white world is ours.
Hilda Doolittle
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
Hilda Doolittle
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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
Hilda Doolittle
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
Hilda Doolittle