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1667 Playwright Quotes

My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light!

Burns Ends Night Friends
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I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.
Gladdest Under Sun Touch
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I love humanity but I hate people.

Love Humanity Hate People
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Pity me that the heart is slow to learn What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Pity Heart Slow Learn
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The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

Longest Perilous Love Terrible
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No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

One Night Dark Face
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This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.

Book Dead Perfume People
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She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.

Happy Lies Dust Eye
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A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.

Person Publishes Book Appears
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Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.
Give Good Advice Promise
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Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Gently Beautiful Kind Intelligent
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The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through.

Heart Push Soul Sky
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I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.

Come Swear Taller
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I would blossom if I were a rose.
Blossom Rose
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Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Night-fall Fast Today Past
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Cruel of heart, lay down my song. Your reading eyes have done me wrong. Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song written.

Cruel Heart Song Reading-eyes
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I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
Think Woman Roots Passion
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To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.

Young Poet Bird Wing
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I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind...

Born Woman Distressed Needs
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Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.

Childhood Kingdom Dies
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When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world!

Small World Words Rope
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A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.

Publishes book Appears Public Eye
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Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line....

Friend Forget Fain Beauty
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Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me
Lay Me Long-grass Eyes
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A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.

Ghost Marble Loved Day
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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.

Learned Hands Fairy-tale Valentine
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I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, and present, and forevermore.

Saw Heard Past Present
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The undercurrent of my every thought: To seek you, find you, have you for my own.

Undercurrent Thought Seek You
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But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

You Young Sweet Fair
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I would I were alive again to kiss the fingers of the rain.

Fingers Alive Rain
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But the roaring of the fire, And the warmth of fur, And the boiling of the kettle Were beautiful to her!

Roaring Fire Warmth Boiling
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The younger generation forms a country of its own.

Younger Generations Country Own
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Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea.

Searching Heart Sorrow Words
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Heart, have no pity on this house of bone: Shake it with dancing, break it down with joy.

Heart Pity House Bone
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I will control myself, or go inside. I will not flaw perfection with my grief. Handsome, this day: no matter who has died.

Control Myself Flaw Perfection
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Into each dance must be packed the panic and ecstasy of her last moment of life, for underneath was death.

Dance Packed Ecstasy Moment
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The breath of dying lilies haunted the twilight air.
Breath Dying-lilies Haunted Twilight
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About the trees my arms I wound; Like one going mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky.

Trees Hugged Ground Quivering
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Into the darkness they go, the wise & the lovely
Darkness Do Wise Lovely
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And you as well must die, beloved dust, And all your beauty stand you in no stead; This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head, This body of flame and steel, before the gust.

Die Beloved Dust Beauty
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Along my body, waking while I sleep, Sharp to the kiss, cold to the hand as snow, The scar of this encounter like a sword

Body Sleep Kiss Snow
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Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots, Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup,
Under Ground Brains Eaten
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I spend so much time on the screen when I am writing, the last thing you want to do is spend more time on the Internet looking at a screen. That's what I hate about all this technology.

About Am Hate I Am
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Basically, particularly in Britain, it's a hegemonic thing that people who write tend to come from the leisure classes. They can afford the time and the books.

Afford Basically Books Britain
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Every kind of book I've written has been written in a different way. There has not been any set time for writing, any set way, I haven't re-invented the process every time but I almost have.

Almost Any Been Book
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I didn't have any concept of Trainspotting being published. It was a selfish act. I did it for myself.

Act Any Being Concept
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I enjoy the freedom of the blank page.
Blank Blank Page Enjoy Freedom
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I feel like I've exhausted guys and male friendships.

Exhausted Feel Friendships Guys
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I grew up in a place where everybody was a storyteller, but nobody wrote. It was that kind of Celtic, storytelling tradition: everybody would have a story at the pub or at parties, even at the clubs and raves.

Celtic Clubs Even Everybody
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I tend to read more nonfiction, really, because when I'm writing I don't like to read other fiction.

Because Fiction Like More
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