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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
Hilda Doolittle
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Hilda Doolittle
Madness
Destruction
Cities
Fall
Great
Prophecy
More quotes by Hilda Doolittle
Dance until the earth dance.
Hilda Doolittle
Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
Hilda Doolittle
When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.
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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
There's a black rose growing in your garden.
Hilda Doolittle
Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
Hilda Doolittle
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
Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
Hilda Doolittle
I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
Hilda Doolittle
The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
Hilda Doolittle
Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
Hilda Doolittle
There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
Hilda Doolittle
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
Hilda Doolittle
I testify to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven and walls of colour, the colonnades of jasper.
Hilda Doolittle
I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
Hilda Doolittle
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
Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust.
Hilda Doolittle
The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
Hilda Doolittle