Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes

l am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.

I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, "Someday you must meet my mother."

For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire, – Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each, — then mourned for all!

I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.

pity me that the heart is slow to learn what the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Not for the flag Of any land because myself was born there Will I give up my life. But I will love that land where man is free, And that will I defend.

The Englishman foxtrots as he fox-hunts, with all his being, through thickets, through ditches, over hedges, through chiffons, through waiters, over saxophones, to the victorious finish; and who goes home depends on how many the ambulance will accommodate.

Death devours all lovely things.

Life must go on; I forget just why.

But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day, When first the shaft into his vision shone Of light anatomized! Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.

The only people I really hate are servants. They're not really human beings at all.

I would blossom if I were a rose.

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.

Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.

I hate people but I love gatherings.

And he whose soul is flat -- the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.

Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it.

I drank at every vine, the last was like the first. I came upon no wine so wonderful as thirst.

The world stands out on either side, No wider than the heart is wide.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

Life is a quest and love a quarrel

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.

Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.

Life in itself / Is nothing, / An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. / It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.

I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow. I would indeed that love were longer-lived, And vows were not so brittle as they are, But so it is, and nature has contrived To struggle on without a break thus far,-- Whether or not we find what we are seeking Is idle, biologically speaking.

I dread no more the first white in my hair, Or even age itself, the easy shoe, The cane, the wrinkled hands, the special chair: Time, doing this to me, may alter too My anguish, into something I can bear

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

Youth, have no pity; leave no farthing here For age to invest in compromise and fear.

Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.

A grave is such a quiet place.

Under my head till morning; but the rain, Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh, Upon the glass and listen for reply.

My candle burns at both ends

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.

After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?

Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little trousers From his old pants. There'll be in his pockets Things he used to put there, Keys and pennies Covered with tobacco; Dan shall have the pennies To save in his bank; Anne shall have the keys To make a pretty noise with. Life must go on, Though good men die; Anne, eat your breakfast; Dan, take your medicine; Life must go on; I forget just why.

The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

What should I be but just what I am?

I had a little sorrow, Born of a little sin.

I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late; And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.