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Edith Sitwell Biography

Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell DBE (7 September 1887 – 9 December 1964) was a British poet and critic and the eldest of the three literary Sitwells.

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Edith Sitwell Quotes

The poet is the complete lover of mankind.

Complete, Lovers, Mankind, Poet

When we think of cruelty, we must try to remember the stupidity, the envy, the frustration from which it has arisen.

Envy, Frustration, Think, Thinking

White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking.

Breaking, Paris, Street, Vienna, White

Tall windows show Infinity; And, hard reality, The candles weep and pry and dance Like lives mocked at by Chance. The rooms are vast as Sleep within; When once I ventured in, Chill Silence, like a surging sea, Slowly enveloped me.

Chance, Reality, Sea, Sleep, Slowly, Weep

What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.

Art, Artist, Knows, See, Know

Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality.

Dream, Reality, Rhythm, Translators

People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess.

Dames, People, Virtue, Virtues

In the Augustan age. . . poetry was. . . the sister of architecture; with the romantics, and their heightened vowel-sense, resulting in different melodic lines, she became the sister of music; in the present day, she appears like the sister of horticulture, each poem growing according to the law of its own nature.

Age, Growing, Law, Lines, Poetry, Sister

I am not eccentric. It's just that I am more alive than most people. I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of catfish.

Catfish, Eccentric, Eels, People, Unpopular, Women

If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.

Children, Critics, Ordinary, Poetasters, Poetry

I have taken this step because I want the discipline, the fire and the authority of the Church. I am hopelessly unworthy of it, but I hope to become worthy.

Discipline, Fire, Hopelessly, Taken, Worthy

All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.

Dipped, Dyes, Great Poet, Heart, Poetry

If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?

Greyhound, Like, Looks, Pekingese, Trying

Isn't it curious how one has only to open a book of verse to realise immediately that it was written by a very fine poet, or else that it was written by someone who is not a poet at all. In the case of the former, the lines, the images, though they are inherent in each other, leap up and give one this shock of delight. In the case of the latter, they lie flat on the page, never having lived.

Book, Delight, Give, Giving, Lived, Lying

Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness.

Descendant, God, Goddess, Pert, Reality, Vulgarity Is

As for the usefulness of poetry, its uses are many. It is the deification of reality. It should make our days holy to us. The poet should speak to all men, for a moment, of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.

Deification, Men, Poet, Poetry, Reality, Use

Art is magic, not logic. This craze for the logical spirit in irrational shape is part of the present harmful mania for uniformity.

Art, Craze, Magic, Present, Shape, Shapes

My poems are hymns of praise to the glory of life.

Art, Hymns, Life, Poems

"It is part of the poet's work to show each man what he sees but does not know he sees. "

Art, Doe, Men, Part, Sees, Show

I'm afraid I'm being an awful nuisance.

Afraid, Awful, Death, Nuisance

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Edith Sitwell Biography

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