This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.
A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.
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.
I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, and present, and forevermore.
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea.
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.
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.
We are all ruled in what we do by impulses; and these impulses are so organized that our actions in general serve for our self preservation and that of the race.
That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.
I would blossom if I were a rose.
Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.
And he whose soul is flat – the sky Will cave in on him by and by.
I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind...
Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line...
But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, – and the long year remembers you.
I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.