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Conscious writing can be the death of poetry.
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
Death
Writing
Conscious
Poetry
More quotes by Marianne Moore
When you take my time, you take something I had meant to use.
Marianne Moore
You're not free until you've been made captive by supreme belief.
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You are not male nor female, but a plan deep-set within the heart of man.
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All are / naked, none is safe.
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There never was a war that was not inward.
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Honesty - however dangerous - should be as valuable as radium it seems to me.
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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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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.
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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It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing.
Marianne Moore
Blessed the geniuses who know / that egomania is not a duty.
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When one is frank, one's very presence is a compliment.
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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
A man is a writer if all his words are strung in definite sentence sounds.
Marianne Moore
Life is energy, and energy is creativity. And even when individuals pass on, the energy is retained in the work of art, locked in it and awaiting release if only someone will take the time and the care to unlock it.
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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
Writing is an undertaking for the modest.
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Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral he could handle any missile.
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The hands are the heart's messengers.
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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.
Marianne Moore