No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square. — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
It is not possible, for a poet, writing in any language, to protect himself from the tragic elements in human life.... [ellipsis… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
“In the country whereto I go I shall not see the face of my friend Nor her hair the color of sunburnt… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
But it's silly to suggest the writing of poetry is something ethereal, a sort of soul-crashing, devastating emotional experience that wrings you.… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
“Night" The cold remote islands And the blue estuaries Where what breathes, breathes The restless wind of the inlets, And what drinks,… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, And madness chooses out my voice again, Again. — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square. — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
“You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth, You have said my name as a prayer. Here where trees are planted… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
The art of one period cannot be approached through the attitudes (emotional or intellectual) of another. — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
“Leave-Taking" I do not know where either of us can turn Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other. I do not… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a… — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
“Slipping in blood, by his own hand, through pride, Hamlet, Othello, Coriolanus fall. Upon his bed, however, Shakespeare die, Having endured them all.” — Louise Bogan Copy Share Image
