Authors — Quotes

Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes: 18

It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it's one damn thing over and over.
They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
My heart is warm with the friends I make,And better friends I'll not be knowing,Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,No matter where it's going.
The Selected Poetry
My candle burns at both ends;It will not last the night;But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!
A Few Figs from Thistles
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?
Pity me that the heart is slow to learnWhat the swift mind beholds at every turn.
The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
EbbI know what my heart is likeSince your love died:It is like a hollow ledgeHolding a little poolLeft there by the tide,A little tepid pool,Drying inward from the edge.
Second April
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.
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.
Stranger, pause and look;From the dust of agesLift this little book,Turn the tattered pages,Read me, do not let me die!Search the fading letters findingSteadfast in the broken bindingAll that once was I!
Collected Poems
I will come back to you, I swear I will;And you will know me still.I shall be only a little tallerThan when I went.
The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with youall 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?
Mine the Harvest
Second FigSafe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
A Few Figs from Thistles
The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.
Renascence and Other Poems