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
When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it’s going to be like, that cottage… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
On poetry: Everyone wants to know what it means. But nobody is asking, How does it feel? — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The poet must not only write the poem but must scrutinize the world intensely, or anyway that part of the world he… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Rhythm is one of the most powerful of pleasures, and when we feel a pleasurable rhythm we hope it will continue. When… — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
