Quotes from Elizabeth Bishop

Icebergs behoove the soul(both being self-made from elements least visible)to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

—And Friday, my dear Friday, died of measlesseventeen years ago come March.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;so many things seem filled with the intentto be lost that their loss is no disaster.Lose something every day. Accept the flusterof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,element bearable to no mortal,to fish and to seals…

Everything only connected by "and" and "and."

His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,looking for something, something, something.Poor bird, he is obsessed!The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray,mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.

How had I come to be herelike them, and overheara cry of pain that could havegot loud and worse but hadn't?

Life and the memory of it cramped,dim, on a piece of Bristol board.

Should we have stayed at home,wherever that may be?

Home-made, home-made! But aren't we all?

I'd havenightmares of other islandsstretching away from mine, infinitiesof islands, islands spawning islandslike frogs' eggs turning into polliwogsof islands, knowing that I had to liveon each and every one, eventually,for ages, registering their flora,their fauna, their geography.

The staring sailorthat shakes his watchthat tells the timeof the poet, the manthat lies in the house of Bedlam.

I knew that nothing strangerhad ever happened.

This iceberg cuts its facets from within.Like jewelry from a graveit saves itself perpetually and adornsOnly itself.

Until everythingwas rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!And I let the fish go.

But they made me realize more than I ever had the rarity of true originality, and also the sort of alienation it might involve.

Icebergs behoove the soul (both being self-made from elements least visible) to see themselves: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

One has to commit a painting,' said Degas, 'the way one commits a crime.

Love's the son stood stammering elocution while the poor ship in flames went down

Lullaby For the Cat Minnow, go to sleep and dream, Close your great big eyes; Round your bed Events prepare The pleasantest surprise. Darling Minnow, drop that frown, Just cooperate, Not a kitten shall be drowned In the Marxist State. Joy and Love will both be yours, Minnow, don't be glum. Happy days are coming soon -- Sleep, and let them come...

I leave a lovely opalescent ribbon: I know this.

You are you and you are going to be YOU forever.

Should we have stayed home and thought of here?

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.