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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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Hilda Doolittle
Wine
Hate
Song
Death
God
Cry

More quotes by 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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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
Hilda Doolittle
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
Hilda Doolittle
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The whole white world is ours.
Hilda Doolittle
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I will be free, no lover's kiss to bind me to earth, no bliss of love to counteract actual bliss.
Hilda Doolittle
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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
Hilda Doolittle
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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
Hilda Doolittle
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Let Love step down, open the clasped hands, forfeit the thorny crown, retrieve the garment that was whole, body and spirit one, spirit and soul.
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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There is no man can take, there is no pool can slake, ultimately I am alone ultimately I am done.
Hilda Doolittle
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
Hilda Doolittle
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
Hilda Doolittle
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Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
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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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
Hilda Doolittle
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Could beauty be beaten out, O youth the cities have sent to strike at each other's strength, it is you who have kept her alight.
Hilda Doolittle
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
Hilda Doolittle