Quotes from Edna St. Vincent Millay

Life must go on, Though good men die.

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

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

If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.

There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

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

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.

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

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

A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?

Music, my rampart and my only one.

A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.

Some of us have been thinking and talking too long without doing anything. Poems are perfect; picketing, sometimes, is better.

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

Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be.

Life must go on; I forget just why.

And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you all through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?- And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?

It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.

I love humanity but I hate people.

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.

Beauty is whatever gives joy.

It is high time we found out about this man Cummings. Let us give him every opportunity to show us at once whether he is a genius, a charlatan, or a congenital defective - and get him off our minds.

I see things with my own eyes, just as if they were the first eyes that ever saw, and then I set about to tell, as best I can, just what I've seen.