The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and white… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna - all are undone. The drums of death… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
The reason why Matthew Arnold, to my feeling, fails entirely as a poet (though no doubt his ideas were good - at least, I… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
The great sins and fires break out of me like the terrible leaves from the bough in the violent spring. I am a walking… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
“Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
I am not eccentric. It's just that I am more alive than most people. I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
“Said the lion to the lioness - "when you are amber dust - No more a raging fire like the heat of the sun… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
“The fusty showman fumbles, must Fit in a particle of dust The universe, for fear it gain Its freedom from my cube of brain.… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
The trouble with most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation they do not… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
What is the special privilege of youth? It is, I think, the power of looking forward, the firm belief that the future holds something… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality. Rhythm might be described as, to the world of sound, what light is… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the… — Edith Sitwell Copy Share Image
