Elinor Wylie quotes:

In masks outrageous and austere, The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.

In masks outrageous and austere The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.

The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.

The winter will be short, the summer long,The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,Tasting of cider and of scuppernong.

Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter's over.

I shall lie folded like a saint, Lapped in a scented linen sheet, On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint, Narrow and cold and neat.

If any have a stone to throw It is not I, ever or now.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees, Gilded and sticky, with a little sting."

My lord, adjudge my strength, and set me where I bear a little more than I can bear.

Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There's something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.

I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose.

If you would keep your soul From spotted sight or sound, Live like the velvet mole; Go burrow underground.

An old earthen pipe like myself is dry and thirsty and so a most voracious drinker of life at its source; I'm no more to be split by the vital stream than if I were stone or steel.

I have never cared very deeply about the actual taste of my work. Let its essential odor satisfy my mind and senses, and I am content. I rarely judge by the grosser test of actual gustation ... in cooking, to create a masterpiece for the nose alone - that is exquisite, that is Art!

The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are colored like the sun, Her breast is colored like the moon.

I bear a little more than I can bear.

When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, We shall live well--we shall live very well.