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In contemporary American public culture, the legacy of the consumer revolution of the 1960s is unmistakable. Today, there are few things more beloved of our masses than the figure of the cultural rebel, the defiant individualist resisting the mandates of the machine civilization. Whether he is an athlete decked out in a mowhawk and multiple-pierced ears, a policeman who plays by his own rules, an actor on a motorcycle, a soldier of fortune with explosive bow and arrow, or a rock star in leather jacket and sunglasses, the rebel has become the paramount cliché of our popular entertainment, and the pre-eminent symbol of the system he is supposed to be subverting. In advertising especially, he rules supreme

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Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Quote Author: Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 - October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and playwright and the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. She was also known for her unconventional, bohemian lifestyle and her many love affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work.

Other Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes

And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - So much is true.

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!

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me—let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day, When first the shaft into his vision shone Of light anatomized! Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.

L am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst.

Whether or not we find what we are seeking Is idle biologically speaking

There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

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

If ever I said, in grief or pride, I tired of honest things, I lied.

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

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.

It is not true that life is one damn thing after another, it is the same damn thing over and over.

How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers The buck in the snow ... Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.

Life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide There are a hundred places where I fear To go, — so with his memory they brim And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say,There is no memory of him here! And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.

Music my rampart, and my only one.

I had a little sorrow, Born of a little sin.

All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.

I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year.

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

Time can make soft that iron wood.

We were very tired, we were very merry— We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.

My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I'll not be knowing; Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take, No matter where it’s going.

I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.

The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,— No higher than the soul is high. 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 But East and West will pinch the heart That cannot keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.

I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.

The soul can split the sky in two, and let the face of God shine through.

It is not true that life is one damn thing after another. It's one damn thing over and over.

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