Writers must... take care of the sensibility that houses the possibility of poems. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
I know the sag of the unfinished poem. And I know the release of the poem that is finished. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude? Have I endured loneliness with grace?” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Now the fire rises and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red roses of flame.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
... to write well it is entirely necessary to read widely and deeply. Good poems are the best teachers. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
On poetry: Everyone wants to know what it means. But nobody is asking, How does it feel? — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Who can guess the impatience of stone to be ground down, to be a part of something livelier?” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“The poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company. It was everything that was needed, when everything was… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the ancient arts, and it began as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
I consider myself kind of a reporter - one who uses words that are more like music and that have a choreography.… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“And then I feel the sun itself as it blazes over the hills, like a million flowers on fire -- clearly I'm… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“We did not know she was sick, but she has come to the fence, walking like a woman who is balancing a… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“The Old Poets Of China Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the ancient arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“At Blackwater Pond At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“When it over, I want to say:all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was a bridegroom, taking the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“and anyway it’s just the same old story -- a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive. Mostly, I… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
It is no use thinking that writing of poems - the actual writing - can accommodate itself to a social setting, even… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“This is a poem about death, about the heart blanching in its fold of shadows because it knows someday it will be… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“The woods that I loved as a child are entirely gone. The woods that I loved as a young adult are gone.… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Poem (the spirit likes to dress up) The spirit likes to dress up like this: ten fingers, ten toes, shoulders, and all… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Love Sorrow Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it’s going to be like, that cottage… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“These days many poets live in cities, or at least in suburbs, and the natural world grows ever more distant from our… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence… — mary oliver Copy Share Image
“The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The three ingredients of poetry: the mystery of the universe, spiritual curiosity, the energy of language. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Belief isn't always easy. But this much I have learned--- if not enough else--- to live with my eyes open. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love and the ability to question. Which are, at the same time, the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The dream of my life is to lie down by a slow river and stare at the light in the trees - to learn… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“All important ideas must include the trees, the mountains, and the rivers. • To understand many things you must reach out of your own condition.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Sometimes I think, were I just a little rougher made, I would go altogether to the woods—to my work entirely, and solitude, a few… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence such beauty… — mary oliver Copy Share Image
“What can I say that I have not said before? So I’ll say it again. The leaf has a song in it. Stone is… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
There is nothing better than work. Work is also play; children know that. Children play earnestly as if it were work. But people grow… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
