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Hilda Doolittle Biography

Hilda "H.D." Doolittle (September 10, 1886 – September 27, 1961) was an American poet, novelist, and memoirist, associated with the early 20th century avant-garde Imagist group of poets, including Ezra Pound and Richard Aldington. She published under the pen name H.D.

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Hilda Doolittle Quotes

No man will be present in those mysteries, yet all men will kneel, no man will be potent, important, yet all men will feel what it is to be a woman.

Important, Kneel, Men, Mystery, Woman

I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.

Perfect, Taught, Woman, Women

I knew the poor, I knew the hideous death they die, when famine lays its bleak hand on the door; I knew the rich, sated with merriment, who yet are sad.

Death, Doors, Famine, Hideous, Knowledge, Life

The Greeks have snatched up their spears. They have pointed the helms of their ships Toward the bulwarks of Troy.

Anger, Bulwarks, Greek, Ships, Toward, War

Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust.

Ankles, Bitterest, Dust, Flesh, Time

Pompeii has nothing to teach us, we know crack of volcanic fissure, slow flow of terrible lava, pressure on heart, lungs, the brain about to burst its brittle case (what the skull can endure!)

Brain, Fissure, Heart, Skulls, Terrible

Escape from the power of the hunting pack, and to know that wisdom is best and beauty sheer holiness.

Holiness, Hunting, Pack, Power, Worship

Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees. . .

Cities, City, Gold, Pollen, Venice

The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.

Art, Blue, Door, Inspiration, Religion, Worked

We don't have to know,only to be:let go the jumble of worn words,reason and vanity.

Jumble, Letting Go, Reason, Vanity, Worn

The things I have are nameless, old and true; they may not be named; few may live and know.

Knowledge, Live, May, Nameless, Things, True

There's a black rose growing in your garden.

Black, Garden, Growing, Rose

I had drawn away into the salt, myself, a shell emptied of life.

Drawn, Salt, Shell, Shells, Solitude

Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.

Heaven, Hell, Sing, Singing

The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.

Faith, Logic, Magic, Stones, Surrender, Trivial

Love has no charm when Love is swept to earth: you'd make a lop-winged god, frozen and contrite, of god up-darting, winged for passionate flight.

Earth, Flight, Frozen, Love, Make, Passionate

There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!

Art, Fairs, Gods, Painted, Real

Take what the old-church found in Mithra's tomb, candle and script and bell, take what the new-church spat upon and broke and shattered.

Church, Iconoclasm, Poetry, Shattered, Take, Tomb

The Christos-image is most difficult to disentangle from its art-craft junk-shop paint-and-plaster medieval jumble of pain-worship and death-symbol.

Art, Disentangle, Jesus, Jumble, Medieval, Pain

The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.

Hate, Heart, Thrive, Thrives

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