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    edith sitwell Quotes

    The fusty showman fumbles, must Fit in a particle of dust The universe, for fear it gain Its freedom from my cube of brain. Yet dust bears seeds that grow to grace Behind my crude-striped wooden face As I, a puppet tinsel-pink Leap on my springs, learn how to think- Till like the trembling golden stalk Of some long-petalled star, I walk Through the dark heavens, and the dew Falls on my eyes and sense thrills through.
    tags: fear freedom grace star dark eyes brain learn universe heaven
    — Edith Sitwell
    Your soul: pure glucose edged with hints Of tentative and half-soiled tints
    — Edith Sitwell
    All day long you sit and sew, Stitch life down for fear it grow, Stitch life down for fear we guess At the hidden ugliness. Dusty voice that throbs with heat, Hoping with your steel-thin beat To put stitches in my mind, Make it tidy, make it kind, You shall not: I'll keep it free Though you turn earth, sky and sea To a patchwork quilt to keep Your mind snug and warm in sleep!
    tags: fear earth sky mind
    — Edith Sitwell
    Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone, And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood, Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one
    tags: time heart dark fire mind
    — Edith Sitwell
    I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent.
    tags: wishes government tax
    — Edith Sitwell
    Poetry is the deification of reality.
    tags: reality poetry
    — Edith Sitwell
    I am patient with stupidity, but not with those who are proud of it.
    tags: stupidity
    — Edith Sitwell
    My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.
    tags: personal silence listening music reading
    — Edith Sitwell
    Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
    tags: time food comfort winter
    — Edith Sitwell
    I am not eccentric. It's just that I am more alive than most people. I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of catfish.
    tags: people
    — Edith Sitwell
    The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth.
    tags: truth believe
    — Edith Sitwell
    The aim of flattery is to soothe and encourage us by assuring us of the truth of an opinion we have already formed about ourselves.
    tags: truth encourage opinion
    — Edith Sitwell
    I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.
    tags: inspire
    — Edith Sitwell
    Hot water is my native element. I was in it as a baby, and I have never seemed to get out of it ever since.
    tags: water
    — Edith Sitwell
    Still falls the rain- dark as the world of man, black as our loss - blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
    tags: men world loss dark black
    — Edith Sitwell
    I have taken this step because I want the discipline, the fire and the authority of the Church. I am hopelessly unworthy of it, but I hope to become worthy.
    tags: fire discipline authority church hope
    — Edith Sitwell
    The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
    tags: men poet
    — Edith Sitwell
    The trouble with most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation they do not want to attract attention.
    tags: attention
    — Edith Sitwell
    A great many people now reading and writing would be better employed keeping rabbits.
    tags: people writing reading
    — Edith Sitwell
    I am an unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish.
    — Edith Sitwell
    I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.
    tags: stupidity
    — Edith Sitwell
    Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.
    — Edith Sitwell
    I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty... but I am too busy thinking about myself.
    tags: time thinking
    — Edith Sitwell
    Virginia Woolf's writing is no more than glamorous knitting. I believe she must have a pattern somewhere.
    tags: believe writing
    — Edith Sitwell
    One's own surroundings means so much to one, when one is feeling miserable.
    — Edith Sitwell
    Why not be oneself? That is the whole secret of a successful appearance. If one is a greyhound why try to look like a Pekinese?
    tags: secret successful
    — Edith Sitwell
    There is no truth. Only points of view.
    tags: truth
    — Edith Sitwell
    If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.
    tags: children master child poetry
    — Edith Sitwell
    All great art contains an element of the irrational.
    — Edith Sitwell
    The child and the great artist-- these alone receive the sensation fresh as it was at the beginning of the world.
    tags: children world alone child
    — Edith Sitwell
    Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness.
    tags: reality
    — Edith Sitwell
    the great sins and fires break out of me like the terrible leaves from the bough in the violent spring. I am a walking fire, I am all leaves ...
    tags: fire sin violent
    — Edith Sitwell
    all ugliness passes, and beauty endures, excepting of the skin.
    tags: beauty
    — Edith Sitwell
    What is the special privilege of youth? It is, I think, the power of looking forward, the firm belief that the future holds something that is worth possessing, and that, therefore, one can let the present moment drop from one without regret and without fear.
    tags: belief fear power future present regret moment worth
    — Edith Sitwell
    The poet is the complete lover of mankind.
    tags: mankind poet lover
    — Edith Sitwell
    All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.
    tags: heart poetry
    — Edith Sitwell
    it is as unseeing to ask what is the use of poetry as it would be to ask what is the use of religion.
    tags: poetry
    — Edith Sitwell
    The last faint sparkIn the self- murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehendingdark,The wounds of the baited bear,--The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beatOn his helpless flesh . . . the tears of the hunted hare.
    tags: heart sad tears
    — Edith Sitwell
    I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.
    tags: greed poetry
    — Edith Sitwell
    Picasso was a delightful, kindly, friendly, simple little man. When I met him he was extremely excited and overjoyed that his mother-in-law had just died, and he was looking forward to the funeral.
    tags: men
    — Edith Sitwell
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    edith sitwell
    Birth    : September 7, 1887
    Death  : December 9, 1964
    Occupation  : Poet