Amy Lawrence Lowell (February 9, 1874 – May 12, 1925) was an American poet of the imagist school from Brookline, Massachusetts, who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926. Read full biography of Amy Lowell →
You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern.
Youth condemns; maturity condones.
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Take everything easy and quit dreaming and brooding and you will be well guarded from a thousand evils.
For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and... →
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Let us be of cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.
I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here... →
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
Amy Lawrence Lowell (February 9, 1874 – May 12, 1925) was an American poet of the imagist school from Brookline, Massachusetts, who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926.