“I will not return to a universe of objects that do not know each other, as if islands were not the long lost children of one great continent” — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“. . .because we had survived sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, we discovered bones that rose from the dark earth and sang as white birds in the trees Because the story of our life becomes our life Because each… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“What can I say to convince you the Houses of Parliament dissolve night after night to become the fluid dream of the Thames? I… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
I am imprinted with the whole sense of European history, especially German history, going back to World War I, which really destroyed all the… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
Poetry, for me, is the answer to, 'How does one stay sane when private lives are being ransacked by public events?' It's something that… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
When I was in college, I did do some writing of poetry, somewhat inspired, I think at that time, by Carl Sandburg, because English… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
What luxury, to be so happy that we can grieve over imaginary lives. — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“By the time I arrive at evening, / they have just settled down to rest; / already invisible, they are turning / into the… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
Everything is autobiography, even if one writes something that is totally objective. The fact that it's a subject that seizes you makes it autobiographical. — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“Late Hours" On summer nights the world moves within earshot on the interstate with its swish and growl, and occasional siren that sends chills… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“What happened is, we grew lonely living among the things, so we gave the clock a face, the chair a back, the table four… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“I will not return to a universe of objects that do not know each other, as if islands were not the long lost children… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
“Someone was always leaving and never coming back. The wooden houses wait like old wives along this road; they are everywhere, abandoned, leaning, turning… — Lisel Mueller Copy Share Image
