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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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Hilda Doolittle
Face
Marble
Faces
Limbs
Eye
Mask
Glass
Glasses
Fixed
Balls
Magic

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
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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You are wind in a stark tree, you are the stark tree unbent, you are a strung bow, you are an arrow.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
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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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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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
Hilda Doolittle
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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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
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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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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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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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
Hilda Doolittle
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War wreaked on you his hideous ravishment We, we alone, Nereids inviolate, Remain to weep, with the sea-birds to chant: Corinth is lost, Corinth is desolate.
Hilda Doolittle