19 Total Quotes

Louise Bogan Quotes

But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet #Childhood

Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet #Agony

Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet #Achievement

The art of one period cannot be approached through the attitudes (emotional or intellectual) of another
Louise Bogan
#Art

Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet

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

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.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet

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

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.
Louise Bogan
#American Poet

She has attained the permanence She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning. Untended stalks blow over her Even and swift, like young men running. Always in the heart she loved Others had lived, -- she heard their laughter. She lies where none has lain before, Where certainly none will follow after.
Louise Bogan
#Love #Love Poems for Her #Poems about Women #Romance

At midnight tears Run in your ears.
Louise Bogan
#Short

Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead, Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread. They do not see cattle cropping red winter grass, They do not hear Snow water going down under culverts Shallow and clear. They wait, when they should turn to journeys, They stiffen, when they should bend. They use against themselves that benevolence To which no man is friend. They cannot think of so many crops to a field Or of clean wood cleft by an axe. Their love is an eager meaninglessness Too tense or too lax. They hear in any whisper that speaks to them A shout and a cry. As like as not, when they take life over their door-sill They should let it go by.
Louise Bogan
#Women #Poems about Women