I consider myself kind of a reporter - one who uses words that are more like music and that have a choreography. I never think of myself as a poet; I just get up and write.
Mary OliverI saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.
Mary OliverA dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.
Mary OliverLet me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say โLook!โ and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads. (from โMysteries, Yesโ)
Mary OliverEvery spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone.
Mary Oliver