We are each other’s harvest; we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.
Live not for battles won. Live not for the-end-of-the-song. Live in the along.
Art hurts. Art urges voyages – and it is easier to stay at home.
I know that hope is the hardest love we carry.
I am a member of a party of one, and I live in an age of fear.
You are pretty as a lynching.
Knowledge is not enough. It must be accompanied by love and understanding.
Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come Again in this identical guise.
The earth is a museum.
I shall create! If not a note, a hole. If not an overture, a desecration.
We go by the way we came.
I called my pen and ink version of myself Gwendolyn Brooks.
We are involved in a life that passes understanding and our highest business is our daily life.
There will utmost violence, … knockings, burnings.
The crowds are wandering and the crowds are tired.
I love your silken hair And your impetuous eyes and the disdainful curve of your soft red lips.
Ambition is when you still believe that there will be a historical moment when the norm of moral justice will be reconnected to human history.
Live not to copy but to be created.
An arrangement over seeds.
We are reaching, building a world, celebrating its completion.
There are inexplicable things. I know of things inexplicable. Each clue is rounded by mystery.
Books are crimes that we do not condemn, because we cannot do without them.
I fell in love with life.
Something wished, was fixed, and came.
No one that defines me can imprison me.
Whatever distaste there was in weighing Thoughts too heavy for women’s shoulders.
The equipment is strange. What I need is a hammer.
I take forever To remember: Remember Forever.
After that, he was not satisfied.
The silence eases you Outward about the dead.
I hate that worthless worm-like cry.
This when out, wounds do not forgive.
Impose on my eyes, to see The distinctly dead.
Bouncing toward a miracle, her back didnot Bow.
Let’s beg for the justifications Winking from the hills.
I tremble for my dead.
Come. If only to meet each other In darkness.
Strong Paul, Sale sale, and Solly, boy – I wish them all what they wish me.
The basic Leak from the blood.”
O hid, no one noizes you!
He remembered it all. The landlord’s child, dangerously tall.
Let it find her.
Spun essays on God, listened long For pieces of Pound’s.
Heart, be not slow, be not slow.
They sailed away, over bleak Chicago To anchor home.
We are left alone… and minute, minute wall of flesh and soul.
But souls are made of miles, I think, so they are billows that will not stay.
The rocks are splinters, knives and kites, And there is sleep inside the sky.
Who made the law That death should be A way of life?
Who made the law Of love? Will it assure Passion defied.
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