Marianne Moore

And the ocean, under the pulsation of light- houses and noise of bell buoys, advances as usual, looking as if it were not that ocean in which dropped things are bound to sink- in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.

What sap went through that little thread to make the cherry red!

The wrinkles progress among themselves in a phalanx-beautiful under networks of foam, and fade breathlessly while the sea rustles in and out of the seaweed.

If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.

A philosopher, being asked what was the first thing necessary to win the love of a woman, answered, 'Opportunity'.

Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.

Dürer would have seen a reason for living in a town like this.

The sweet air coming into your house on a fine day, from water etched with waves as formal as the scales on a fish.

They say there is a sweeter air where it was made, than we have here.

I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.