I think we've come to a kind of splinter period in poetry. These tiny little bright fragments of observation - and not produced under sufficient pressure - some of it's very skillful, but I don't think there's anywhere a discernible… — 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… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
“It was gentler here, softer, its seethe the quietest of whispers, as if, in deference to a drawing room, it had quite deliberately put… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
One cricket said to another - come, let us be ridiculous, and say love! love love love love love let us be absurd, woman,… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
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… — Conrad Aiken Copy Share Image
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
