Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes - Page 7

I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity Came down and settled over me

Earth does not understand her child, Who from the loud gregarious town Returns, depleted and defiled, To the still woods, to fling him down.

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.

Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.

Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.

It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and start,And it's little I care where my feet go.

Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink.

It's not love's going hurts my days But that it went in little ways.

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

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.

But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.

To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before

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

If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.

Progress-progress is the dirtiest word in the language-who ever told us- And made us believe it-that to take a step forward was necessarily, was always A good idea?

Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.

Time can make soft that iron wood.

Life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse.

How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers The buck in the snow . . . Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

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.

I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.

let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air.

Evil alone has oil for every wheel.