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What is our innocence, What is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe.

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
None
Safe
Innocence
Guilt
Naked

More quotes by Marianne Moore

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All are / naked, none is safe.
Marianne Moore
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There never was a war that was not inward.
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When we think we don't like art it is because it is artificial art.
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Which of us has not been stunned by the beauty of an animal's skin or its flexibility in motion?
Marianne Moore
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repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of the sea the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.
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One writes because one has a burning desire to objectify what it is indispensable to one's happiness to express.
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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
Marianne Moore
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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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Egotism is usually subversive of sagacity.
Marianne Moore
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that which is impossible to force, it is impossible to hinder.
Marianne Moore
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Superior people never make long visits.
Marianne Moore
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In a poem the excitement has to maintain itself. I am governed by the pull of the sentence as the pull of a fabric is governed by gravity.
Marianne Moore
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When you take my time, you take something I had meant to use.
Marianne Moore
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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.
Marianne Moore
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Omissions are not accidents.
Marianne Moore
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I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.
Marianne Moore
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The heart that gives, gathers.
Marianne Moore
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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.
Marianne Moore
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[On her use of quotations:] When a thing has been said so well that it could not be said better, why paraphrase it? Hence my writing, is, if not a cabinet of fossils, a kind of collection of flies in amber.
Marianne Moore
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The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, Again the sun! anew each day and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul.
Marianne Moore