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Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

Mary Oliver

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Mary Oliver
Age: 83 †
Born: 1935
Born: September 10
Died: 2019
Died: January 17
Climate Activist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Maple Heights
Ohio
Mary Jane Oliver
Life
Silky
Heaviness
Cherish
Humble

More quotes by Mary Oliver

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Also I wanted to be able to love And we all know how that one goes, don't we? Slowly
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And I say to my heart: rave on.
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I was hurrying through my own soul . . . I was leaning out . . . I was listening.
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Walks work for me. I enter some arena that is neither conscious or unconscious.
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What I have done is learn to love and learn to be loved. That didn't come easy.
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It's very important to write things down instantly, or you can lose the way you were thinking out a line. I have a rule that if I wake up at 3 in the morning and think of something, I write it down. I can't wait until morning - it'll be gone.
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I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.
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Everybody has to have their little tooth of power. Everybody wants to be able to bite.
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When will you have a little pity for every soft thing that walks through the world, yourself included.
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And that is just the point... how the world, moist and beautiful, calls to each of us to make a new and serious response. That's the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?
Mary Oliver
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How heron comes It is a negligence of the mind not to notice how at dusk heron comes to the pond and stands there in his death robes, perfect servant of the system, hungry, his eyes full of attention, his wings pure light
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A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world and the responsibilities of your life.
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It is better for the heart to break, than not to break.
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We shake with joy, we shake with grief. What a time they have, these two housed as they are in the same body.
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As long as you're dancing, you can break the rules.
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He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.
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For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.
Mary Oliver
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I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read.
Mary Oliver
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Sing, if you can sing, and it not still be musical inside yourself.
Mary Oliver
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This is the first, wildest, and wisest thing I know, that the soul exists, and that it is built entirely out of attention.
Mary Oliver