Icebergs behoove the soul (both being self-made from elements least visible) to see themselves: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible. — 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 twist in spite of our embarrassment. Costume and custom are complex. The headgear of the other sex inspires us to experiment. Anandrous aunts, who, at the beach with paper plates upon your laps, keep putting on… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share
“At the Fishhouses Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in the gloaming almost invisible, a dark purple-brown, and his shuttle worn and polished. The air smells so strong of codfish it makes one's nose run and one's eyes water. The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs and… — Elizabeth Bishop Copy Share
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
