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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.

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
Consciousness
Strange
Incandescent
Existence
Poison
Beauty
Fresh
Stars
Wave
Experience
Fruit
Much
Tears
Pieces

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What I write could only be called poetry because there is no other category to put it.
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The mind is an enchanting thing is an enchanted thing, like the glaze on a katydid-wing subdivided by sun till the nettings are legion.
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[The] whirlwind fife-and-drum of the storm bends the salt marsh grass, disturbs stars in the sky and the star on the steeple it is a privilege to see so much confusion.
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Excess is the common substitute for energy.
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Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.
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Truly as the sun can rot or mend, love can make one bestial or make a beast a man.
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Poetry is a peerless proficiency of the imagination.
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Writing is an undertaking for the modest.
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As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.
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Everything I have written is the result of reading or of interest in people.
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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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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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Your thorns are the best part of you.
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Superior people never make long visits.
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