I compelled myself all through to write an exercise in verse, in a different form, every day of the year. I turned out my page every day, of some sort - I mean I didn't give a damn about the… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves remote in pale blue starlight Crash on a white sand shore. It is moonlight. The garden is silent. I stand in my room alone. Across my wall, from the far-off moon, A rain of fire is thrown. There are houses hanging above the stars, And… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share
“It was gentler here, softer, its seethe the quietest of whispers, as if, in deference to a drawing room, it had quite deliberately put on its 'manners'; it kept itself out of sight, obliterated itself, but distinctly with an air of saying, 'Ah, but just wait! Wait till we are alone together! Then I will begin to tell you something… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share
One cricket said to another - come, let us be ridiculous, and say love! love love love love love let us be absurd, woman, and say hate! hate hate hate hate hate and then let us be angelic and say nothing. — Conrad Aiken Copy Share
I began by doing book reviews on the typewriter and then went over to short stories on the machine, meanwhile sticking to pencil for… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
“And the mist of snow, as he had foreseen, was still on it - a ghost of snow falling in the bright sunlight, softly and steadily floating and turning and pausing, soundlessly meeting the snow that covered, as with a transparent mirage, the bare bright cobbles. He loved it - he stood still and loved it. Its beauty was paralyzing… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share
I think it's very useful to be insulated from your surrounds, because it gives you your inviolate privacy, without pressures, so that you can… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
The wind shrieks, the wind grieves; It dashes the leaves on walls, it whirls then again; And the enormous sleeper vaguely and stupidly dreams… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
Death is never an ending, death is a change; Death is beautiful, for death is strange; Death is one dream out of another flowing. — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
As poetry is the highest speech of man, it can not only accept and contain, but in the end express best everything in the… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
