... to write well it is entirely necessary to read widely and deeply. Good poems are the best teachers. Mary Oliver More Quotes by Mary Oliver More Quotes From Mary Oliver When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. Mary Oliver weddinggratitudelove I had a dog who loved flowers. Briskly she went through the fields, yet paused for the honeysuckle or the rose, her dark head and her wet nose touching the face of every one with its petals of silk with its fragrance rising into the air where the bees, their bodies heavy with pollen hovered - and easily she adored every blossom not in the serious careful way that we choose this blossom or that blossom the way we praise or don't praise - the way we love or don't love - but the way we long to be - that happy in the heaven of earth - that wild, that loving. Mary Oliver flowerdogdark Look, hasn't my body already felt like the body of a flower? Mary Oliver bodyflowerlooks It's not a competition, it's a doorway. Mary Oliver special-educationcompetitiondoorways I read the way a person might swim, to save his or her life. I wrote that way too. Mary Oliver swimmightway For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Mary Oliver ropepocketsfire Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life. It's an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that. Mary Oliver emptypoetryway I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Mary Oliver mischiefkindnessbelieve As a child, what captivated me was reading the poems myself and realizing that there was a world without material substance which was nevertheless as alive as any other. Mary Oliver substancereadingchildren In the glare of your mind, be modest. And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling. Mary Oliver glarehumilitymind What misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven. Mary Oliver afraid-of-deathmiserybelieve from the complications of loving you i think there is no end or return. no answer, no coming out of it. which is the only way to love, isn't it? this isn't a playground, this is earth, our heaven, for a while. therefore i have given precedence to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods that hold you in the center of my world. and i say to my body: grow thinner still. and i say to my fingers, type me a pretty song. and i say to my heart: rave on. Mary Oliver darkheartsong I simply do not distinguish between work and play. Mary Oliver work-and-playplay So this is how you swim inward. So this is how you flow outwards. So this is how you pray. Mary Oliver flowjudgingswim A poet's interest in craft never fades, of course. Mary Oliver craftsinterestpoet You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without doubt,I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Mary Oliver rowingsouldoubt Drive down any road, take a train or an airplane across the world, leave your old life behind, die and be born again~ wherever you arrive they'll be there first, glossy and rowdy and indistinguishable. The deep muscle of the world. Mary Oliver rowdyairplaneworld I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while. Mary Oliver songcountryfall I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while. Mary Oliver alivewantedlittles When I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. Mary Oliver weedroserunning
