“Now the fire rises and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red roses of flame.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Writing a poem ... is a kind of possible love affair between something like the heart (that courageous but also shy factory… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The poem in which the reader does not feel himself or herself a participant is a lecture, listened to from an uncomfortable… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Of course! the path to heaven doesn't lie down in flat miles. It's in the imagination with which you perceive this world,… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them Did not board ship with grief among their maps?” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“We did not know she was sick, but she has come to the fence, walking like a woman who is balancing a… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“And then I feel the sun itself as it blazes over the hills, like a million flowers on fire -- clearly I'm… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“The poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company. It was everything that was needed, when everything was… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“from the poem Hum, Hum The resurrection of the morning. The mystery of the night. The hummingbird's wings. The excitement of thunder.… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“The salamanders, like tiny birds, locked into formation, fly down into the endless mysteries of the transforming water, and how could anyone… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“That Little Beast That pretty little beast, a poem, has a mind of its own. Sometimes I want it to crave apples… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“This is a poem about death, about the heart blanching in its fold of shadows because it knows someday it will be… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“DAISIES It is possible, I suppose that sometime we will learn everything there is to learn: what the world is, for example,… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Belief isn't always easy. But this much I have learned--- if not enough else--- to live with my eyes open. — Mary Oliver Copy Share
In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love and the ability to question. Which are, at the same time, the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth. — Mary Oliver Copy Share
The dream of my life is to lie down by a slow river and stare at the light in the trees - to learn… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
“All important ideas must include the trees, the mountains, and the rivers. • To understand many things you must reach out of your own condition.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share
“Sometimes I think, were I just a little rougher made, I would go altogether to the woods—to my work entirely, and solitude, a few… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
“First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence such beauty… — mary oliver Copy Share
“What can I say that I have not said before? So I’ll say it again. The leaf has a song in it. Stone is… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
There is nothing better than work. Work is also play; children know that. Children play earnestly as if it were work. But people grow… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
“I stood like Adam in his lonely garden On that first morning, shaken out of sleep, Rubbing his eyes, listening, parting the leaves, Like… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
We all have a hungry heart, and one of the things we hunger for is happiness. So as much as I possibly could, I… — Mary Oliver Copy Share
