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Mary Oliver Quotes about Heart

All Mary Oliver Quotes Art Beach Children Darkness Doubt Earth Feelings Giving Giving Up Glory Gratitude Grief Heart quotes Heaven Home Imagination Inspirational Joy Kindness Language Life Love Lying Morning Nature Poetry Prayer Rain Reading Risk Running Singing Soul Spring Summer Terror Water Weed Worry Writing

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

Dream, Heart, Imagination

Mary Oliver (2009). “Evidence: Poems”, p.43, Beacon Press

And I say to my heart: rave on.

Life, Heart, Enthusiasm

Mary Oliver (2006). “Thirst: Poems”, p.29, Beacon Press

Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives.

Heart, Bird, Forests

Mary Oliver (2006). “New and Selected Poems, Volume Two”, p.45, Beacon Press

I stood willingly and gladly in the characters of everything - other people, trees, clouds. And this is what I learned, that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion - that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart.

Book, Heart, Character

Mary Oliver (2016). “Upstream: Selected Essays”, p.14, Penguin

We all have a hungry heart, and one of the things we hunger for is happiness.

Heart, Hunger, Hungry

Source: balisha-neverenoughtime.blogspot.com

It is better for the heart to break, than not to break.

Heart, Special Education, Break

Mary Oliver (1995). “Blue Pastures”, Harcourt

But how did you come burning down like a wild needle, knowing just where my heart was?

Heart, Knowing, Burning Down

Mary Oliver (1998). “West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems”, p.48, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.

Morning, Heart, Thinking

Mary Oliver (1986). “Dream Work”, p.68, Atlantic Monthly Press

All night my heart makes its way however it can over the rough ground of uncertainties, but only until night meets and then is overwhelmed by morning, the light deepening, the wind easing and just waiting, as I too wait (and when have I ever been disappointed?) for redbird to sing

Morning, Heart, Night

FaceBook post by Mary Oliver from Apr 22, 2015

from the complications of loving you i think there is no end or return. no answer, no coming out of it. which is the only way to love, isn't it? this isn't a playground, this is earth, our heaven, for a while. therefore i have given precedence to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods that hold you in the center of my world. and i say to my body: grow thinner still. and i say to my fingers, type me a pretty song. and i say to my heart: rave on.

Song, Heart, Dark

FaceBook post by Mary Oliver from Nov 19, 2016

We all have a hungry heart, and one of the things we hunger for is happiness. So as much as I possibly could, I stayed where I was happy. I spent a great deal of time in my younger years just writing and reading, walking around the woods in Ohio, where I grew up.

Reading, Writing, Heart

Interview with Maria Shriver, www.oprah.com. March 9, 2011.

Writing a poem ... is a kind of possible love affair between something like the heart (that courageous but also shy factory of emotion) and the learned skills of the conscious mind.

Writing, Heart, Skills

Mary Oliver (1994). “A Poetry Handbook”, p.7, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Love, love, love, says Percy. And hurry as fast as you can along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust. Then, go to sleep. Give up your body heat, your beating heart. Then, trust.

Beach, Giving Up, Heart

Mary Oliver (2008). “The Truro Bear and Other Adventures: Poems and Essays”, p.77, Beacon Press

Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary. If it were necessary, it would have stayed simple; it would not agitate our hearts with ever-present loveliness and ever-cresting ambiguity; it would not dream, on its long white bones, of turning into song.

Dream, Song, Heart

Mary Oliver (1998). “West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems”, p.17, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I know death is the fascinating snake under the leaves, sliding and sliding; I know the heart loves him too, can't turn away, can't break the spell. Everything wants to enter the slow thickness, aches to be peaceful finally and at any cost. Wants to be stone.

Death, Heart, Snakes

Mary Oliver (1986). “Dream Work”, p.32, Atlantic Monthly Press

Emerson, I am trying to live, as you said we must, the examined life. But there are days I wish there was less in my head to examine, not to speak of the busy heart.

Heart, Wish, Trying

Mary Oliver (2008). “Red Bird: Poems”, p.39, Beacon Press

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