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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

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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
Weather
Silvered
Skin
Tightness
Skins
Flax
Water
Bleached
Hands
Divide
Work
Leather
Irish
Divides

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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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[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.
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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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They fought the enemy, we fight fat living and self-pity. Shine, o shine, unfalsifying sun, on this sick scene.
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Omissions are not accidents.
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Blessed the geniuses who know / that egomania is not a duty.
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Writing is an undertaking for the modest.
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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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A man is a writer if all his words are strung in definite sentence sounds.
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Everything I have written is the result of reading or of interest in people.
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that which is impossible to force, it is impossible to hinder.
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The power of the visible is the invisible.
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Conscious writing can be the death of poetry.
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Of the crow-blue mussel shells, one keeps adjusting the ash heaps opening and shutting itself like an injured fan.
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The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.
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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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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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You're not free until you've been made captive by supreme belief.
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Camels are snobbish and sheep, unintelligent water buffaloes, neurasthenic-- even murderous. Reindeer seem over-serious.
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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.
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