You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without doubt,I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Mary OliverWhat misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.
Mary OliverThough I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving
Mary OliverIt is no use thinking that writing of poems - the actual writing - can accommodate itself to a social setting, even the most sympathetic social setting of a workshop composed of friends. It cannot. The work improves there and often the will to work gets valuable nourishment and ideas. But, for good reasons, the poem requires of the writer not society or instruction, but a patch of profound and unbroken solitude.
Mary Oliver