It seems to me that the desire to make art produces an ongoing experience of longing, a restlessness sometimes, but not inevitably, played out romantically, or sexually. Always there seems something ahead, the next poem or story, visible, at least,… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
Without thinking, I knelt in the grass, like someone meaning to pray. When I tried to stand again, I couldn't move, my legs were… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
What I responded to, on the page, was the way a poem could liberate, by means of a word's setting, through subtleties of timing,… — Louise Gluck Copy Share Image
“We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory. from Nostos.” — Louise Gluck Copy Share Image
He takes her in his arms He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you But he thinks this is a lie,… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
At first I saw you everywhere. Now only in certain things, at longer intervals. — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
Desire, loneliness, wind in the flowering almond— surely these are the great, the inexhaustible subjects to which my predecessors apprenticed themselves. I hear them… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
“They sat far apart deliberately, to experience, daily, the sweetness of seeing each other across great distance.” — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
Toward his critics, the artist harbors a defensive ace: knowledge that the future will erase the present. — Louise Gluck Copy Share Image
I’m like the child who buries her head in the pillow so as not to see, the child who tells herself that light causes… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
I am attracted to ellipsis, to the unsaid, to suggestion, to eloquent, deliberate silence. The unsaid, for me, exerts great power: often I wish… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
“Once I could imagine my soul I could imagine my death. When I imagined my death my soul died. This I remember clearly. My… — Louise Glück Copy Share Image
