Maybe the world, without us, is the real poem. Mary Oliver More Quotes by Mary Oliver More Quotes From Mary Oliver Things take the time they take. Don't worry. Mary Oliver worry ...there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do -- determined to save the only life you could save. Mary Oliver determined voice world It is better for the heart to break, than not to break. Mary Oliver special-education break heart Can one be passionate about the just, the ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit no labor in its cause? I don't think so. All summations have a beginning, all effect has a story, all kindness beings with the sown seed. Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of light is the crossroads of - indolence, or action. Be ignited or be gone. Mary Oliver light kindness thinking Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don't really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. Mary Oliver black tree talking But how did you come burning down like a wild needle, knowing just where my heart was? Mary Oliver burning-down knowing heart Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! Mary Oliver what-is-love lovely years Mornings at Blackwater" For years, every morning, I drank from Blackwater Pond. It was flavored with oak leaves and also, no doubt, the feet of ducks. And always it assuaged me from the dry bowl of the very far past. What I want to say is that the past is the past, and the present is what your life is, and you are capable of choosing what that will be, darling citizen. So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing, and put your lips to the world. And live your life. Mary Oliver morning past years I have a notion that if you are going to be spiritually curious, you better not get cluttered up with too many material things. Mary Oliver follow-your-dreams curious clutter Why should I not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside, looking into the shining world? Mary Oliver shining morning world Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light. Mary Oliver leaving-me kill-me light I GO DOWN TO THE SHORE I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall— what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do. Mary Oliver lovely-voice morning moving I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home. Mary Oliver home way travel All night my heart makes its way however it can over the rough ground of uncertainties, but only until night meets and then is overwhelmed by morning, the light deepening, the wind easing and just waiting, as I too wait (and when have I ever been disappointed?) for redbird to sing Mary Oliver heart morning night I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read. Mary Oliver gathering might school A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing. Mary Oliver smell dog world You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Mary Oliver medicine animal philosophy What can we do but keep on breathing in and out, modest and willing, and in our places? Mary Oliver breathing purpose life What I have done is learn to love and learn to be loved. That didn't come easy. Mary Oliver done easy Writers sometimes give up what is most strange and wonderful about their writing - soften their roughest edges - to accommodate themselves toward a group response. Mary Oliver groups giving-up writing
