Best 40 of Louise Bogan quotes - MyQuotes

Follow
Louise Bogan
By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

What we suffer, what we endure, what we muff, what we kill, what we miss, what we are guilty of, is done by us, as individuals, in private.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

The fact, and the intuition or logic about the fact, are severe coordinates in fiction. In the short story they must cross with hair-line precision.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

I have lost faith in universal panaceas - work is the one thing in which I really believe.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste of those who tender it.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.

By Anonym 16 Sep

Louise Bogan

In the country whereto I go I shall not see the face of my friend Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses; Together we shall not find The land on whose hills bends the new moon In air traversed of birds. What have I thought of love? I have said, "It is beauty and sorrow." I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor As a wind out of old time . . . But there is only the evening here, And the sound of willows Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water. -- from "Betrothed

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

Hate does not present many choices; if hate is your solution, you are fairly certain to hate all phemonena with equal joy and intensity, without troubling to drag into prominence any one feature from the loathsome whole.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

O fortunate bride, who never again will become elated after childbirth! O lucky older wife, who has been cured of feeling unwanted!

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

Poetry is often generations in advance of the thought of its time.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

The women rest their tired half-healed hearts; they are almost well.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

But it's silly to suggest the writing of poetry is something ethereal, a sort of soul-crashing, devastating emotional experience that wrings you. I have no fancy ideas about poetry. ... It doesn't come to you on the wings of a dove. It's something you have to work hard at.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

At midnight tears Run into your ears.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

The terrible beast, that no one may understand, Came to my side, and put down his head in love.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

... politics are nothing but sand and gravel: it is art and life that feed us until we die. Everything else is ambition, hysteria or hatred.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

All art, in spite of the struggles of some critics to prove otherwise, is based on emotion and projects emotion.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.

By Anonym 15 Sep

Louise Bogan

Come, drunks and drug-takers; come perverts unnerved! Receive the laurel, given, though late, on merit; to whom and wherever deserved. Parochial punks, trimmers, nice people, joiners true-blue, Get the hell out of the way of the laurel. It is deathless And it isn't for you.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

O God, in the dream the terrible horse began To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, And madness chooses out my voice again, Again.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

Once form has been smashed, it has been smashed for good, and once a forbidden subject has been released, it has been released for good.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

It is not possible, for a poet, writing in any language, to protect himself from the tragic elements in human life.... [ellipsis in source] Illness, old age, and death--subjects as ancient as humanity--these are the subjects that the poet must speak of very nearly from the first moment that he begins to speak.

By Anonym 13 Sep

Louise Bogan

Intellectuals range through the finest gradations of kind and quality: from those who are merely educated neurotics, usually with strong hidden reactionary tendencies, through mediocrities of all kinds, to men of real brains and sensibility, more or less stiffened into various respectabilities or substitutes for respectability. The number of Ignorant Specialists is large. The number of hysterics and compulsives is also large.

By Anonym 14 Sep

Louise Bogan

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.