But he sleeps on the top of his mast with his eyes closed tight. The gull inquired into his dream, which was, "I must not fall. The spangled sea below wants me to fall. It is hard as diamonds; it… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
“Exchanging Hats Unfunny uncles who insist in trying on a lady's hat, --oh, even if the joke falls flat, we share your slight transvestite… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
“At the Fishhouses Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in the… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
I am sorry for people who can't write letters. But I suspect also that you and I ... love to write them because it's… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house. — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
“But they made me realize more than I ever had the rarity of true originality, and also the sort of alienation it might involve.” — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
“The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
The armored cars of dreams, contrived to let us do so many a dangerous thing. — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
Hoping to live days of greater happiness, I forget that days of less happiness are passing by. — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.) — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share Image
