Amy Lowell Quotes

Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.

For books are more than books, they are the life
The very heart and core of ages past,
The reason why men lived and worked and died,
The essence and quintessence of their lives.

You are ice and fire
The touch of you burns my hands like snow

A black cat among roses,
phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon,
the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still.
It is dazed with moonlight,
contented with perfume...

All books are either dreams or swords,
You can cut, or you can drug, with words.

Christ! What are patterns for?