“Recall the cold Of Towton on Palm Sunday before dawn, Wakefield, Tewkesbury : fastidious trumpets Shrilling into the ruck ; some trampled Acres, parched, sodden or blanched by sleet, Stuck with strange-postured dead. Recall the wind's Flurrying, darkness over the human mire.” — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
“Recall the cold Of Towton on Palm Sunday before dawn, Wakefield, Tewkesbury : fastidious trumpets Shrilling into the ruck ; some trampled Acres, parched,… — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
Platonic England, house of solitudes, rests in its laurels and its injured stone — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
As estimated, you died. Things marched, sufficient, to that end. Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented terror, so many routine cries. — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We're difficult to ourselves, we're difficult to each other. And we are mysteries to ourselves, we are mysteries to each other. One encounters in any ordinary day far more real difficulty than one confronts in the most “intellectual” piece of work. Why is it believed that poetry, prose, painting, music should be less… — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share
We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We’re difficult to ourselves, we’re difficult to each other. — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
“Not as we are but as we must appear, contractual ghosts of pity; not as we desire life, but as they would have us… — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
“I wouldn't mind dispatching all 3 of my room mates vile felines in this apartment. Nasty beasts. I'm just afraid I wouldn't be able… — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
I think art has a right — not an obligation — to be difficult if it wishes. And, since people generally go on from… — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
Autumn resumes the land, ruffles the woods with smoky wings, entangles them. — Geoffrey Hill Copy Share Image
