Allen Tate Quotes
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And I have seen long fingers that would stare With fiery eyes, and then the eyes would crawl Deftly across the counterpane and fall Soundless, with a wink of mild despair.
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What is the flesh and blood compounded ofBut a few moments in the life of time?This prowling of the cells, litigious love,Wears the long claw of flesh-arguing crime.
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Other psychological theories say a good deal about compensation.
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But we shall not know the world by looking at it; we know it by looking at the hovering fly.
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Men expect too much, do too little, Put the contraption before the accomplishment, Lack skill of the interior mind To fashion dignity with shapes of air. Luxury, yes but not elegance!
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The dusk runs down the lane driven like hail; Far off a precise whistle is escheat To the dark; and then the towering weak and pale....
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I am not ridiculing verbal mechanisms, dreams, or repressions as origins of poetry; all three of them and more besides may have a great deal to do with it.
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Narcissism and the Confederate dead cannot be connected logically, or even historically; even were the connection an historical fact, they would not stand connected as art, for no one experiences raw history.
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We know the particular poem, not what it says that we can restate.
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Ah, Christ, I love you rings to the wild sky And I must think a little of the past: When I was ten I told a stinking lie That got a black boy whipped...
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Struck in the wet mire Four thousand leagues from the ninth buried city I thought of Troy, what we had built her for.
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So the dubbed conceit Played nursery of cheat To clear the I of sleet....
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There's precious little to say between day and dark, Perhaps a few words on the implacable will Of time sailing like a magic barque Or something as fine for the amenities...
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What was I saying? An Egyptian king Once touched long fingers, which are not anything.
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Culture is the study of perfection, and the constant effort to achieve it.
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The dreary flies, lazy and casual, Stick to the ceiling, buzz along the wall. O heart, the spider shuffles from the mould Weaving, between the pinks and grapes, his pall.
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I had kept opaque Down deeper than the canyons undersea The sullen spectrum of a buried lake Nobody saw; not seen even by me....
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There is a calm for you where men and women Unroll the chill precision of moving feet.
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I say that what one loves is best: The midnight fastness of the heart.
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All the sea-gods are dead. You, Venus, come home To your salt maidenhead...
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Let us begin to understand the argument. There is a solution to everything: Science.
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Among friends one has the privilege of saying nothing; the civility consists in the assumption that one's silence will be civilly understood. I can imagine a small gathering of friends who say nothing all evening: they recoil from saying anything that the others don't want to hear; and their silence would be the subtlest courtesy.
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Antiquity breached mortality with myths. Narcissus is vocabulary. Hermes decorates A cornice on the Third National Bank.
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I thought I heard the dark pounding its head On a rock, crying: Who are the dead?