Icebergs behoove the soul (both being self-made from elements least visible) to see themselves: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible. Elizabeth Bishop More Quotes by Elizabeth Bishop More Quotes From Elizabeth Bishop Heaven is not like flying or swimming, but has something to do with blackness and a strong glare. Elizabeth Bishop swimming strong heaven What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around? Elizabeth Bishop body sun way What the Man-Moth fears most he must do. Elizabeth Bishop moths men 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 kind of like working without really doing it. Elizabeth Bishop sorry writing people Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. Elizabeth Bishop breakup writing art Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed home and thought of here? Where should we be today? Elizabeth Bishop home long thinking Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.) Elizabeth Bishop fingertips pages book The armored cars of dreams, contrived to let us do so many a dangerous thing. Elizabeth Bishop dangerous car dream Dreams were the worst. Of course I dreamed of food and love, but they were pleasant rather than otherwise. But then I'd dream of things like slitting a baby's throat, mistaking it for a baby goat. I'd have nightmares of other islands stretching away from mine, infinities of islands, islands spawning islands, like frogs' eggs turning into polliwogs of islands, knowing that I had to live on each and every one, eventually, for ages, registering their flora, their fauna, their geography. Elizabeth Bishop dream islands baby And as to experience-well, think how little some good poets have had, or how much some bad ones have. Elizabeth Bishop writing littles thinking I was made at right angles to the world and I see it so. I can only see it so. Elizabeth Bishop angle made world Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West. Elizabeth Bishop topography maps color Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house. Elizabeth Bishop grandmother house children The art of losing isn't hard to master. Elizabeth Bishop your-loss losing art Someone loves us all. Elizabeth Bishop one-love god It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind numbed our faces on one side; disrupted the formation of a lone flight of Canada geese; and blew back the low, inaudible rollers in upright, steely mist. Elizabeth Bishop ocean spring beach I HATED the Salinger story. It took me days to go through it, gingerly, a page at a time, and blushing with embarrassment for him every ridiculous sentence of the way. How can they let him do it? Elizabeth Bishop pages stories way I've never written the things I'd like to write that I've admired all my life. Maybe one never does. Elizabeth Bishop written doe writing The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat. Elizabeth Bishop hats shadow men Ports are necessities, like postage stamps or soap, but they seldom seem to care what impressions they make. Elizabeth Bishop sailing soap care
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