Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, And madness chooses out my voice again, Again. — 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
