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Poetry ... ... a place for the genuine, Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise
Marianne Moore
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Marianne Moore
Age: 84 †
Born: 1887
Born: November 15
Died: 1972
Died: February 5
Essayist
Poet
Translator
Writer
Kirkwood
Missouri
Marianne Moore
Marianne Craig Moore
Eyes
Eye
Place
Dilate
Hands
Grasp
Genuine
Rise
Poetry
Hair
More quotes by Marianne Moore
As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive of one's attending upon you but to question the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.
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that which is impossible to force, it is impossible to hinder.
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Everything I have written is the result of reading or of interest in people.
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Maine should be pleased that its animal is not a waverer, and rather than fight, lets the primed quill fall. Shallow oppressor, intruder, insister, you have found a resister.
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... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.
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Victory won't come to me unless I go to it a grape tendril ties a knot in knots till knotted thirty times
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The weak overcomes its/ menace, the strong over-/comes itself.
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Omissions are not accidents.
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Fanaticism? No. Writing is exciting and baseball is like writing. You can never tell with either how it will go.
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The mind is an enchanting thing.
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There never was a war that was not inward.
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Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty / its existence is too much / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.
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The cynics in life are the people who are always trying to do things for people who don't want things done for them.
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Concurring hands divide flax for damask that when bleached by Irish weather has the silvered chamois-leather water-tightness of a skin.
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Originality is... a by-product of sincerity.
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Men are monopolists of stars, garters, buttons and other shining baubles- unfit to be the guardians of another person's happiness.
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The heart that gives, gathers.
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Camels are snobbish and sheep, unintelligent water buffaloes, neurasthenic-- even murderous. Reindeer seem over-serious.
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I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.
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It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing.
Marianne Moore