Sign in with Facebook
Spoon River Anthology Quotes
Spoon River Anthology
by
Edgar Lee Masters13,842 ratings, 4.03 average rating, 1,174 reviews
Spoon River Anthology Quotes
Showing 1-30 of 48
“To this generation I would say:
Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.”
― Spoon River Anthology
Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire--
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.”
― Spoon River Anthology
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire--
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“In time you shall see Fate approach you
In the shape of your own image in the mirror.”
― Spoon River Anthology
In the shape of your own image in the mirror.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle—
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.”
― Spoon River Anthology
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle—
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“I tramped through the country
To get the feeling
That I was not a separate thing from the earth.
I used to lose myself
By lying with eyes half-open in the woods.
Sometimes I talked with animals…”
― Spoon River Anthology
To get the feeling
That I was not a separate thing from the earth.
I used to lose myself
By lying with eyes half-open in the woods.
Sometimes I talked with animals…”
― Spoon River Anthology
“This is life's sorrow:
That one can be happy only where two are;
And that our hearts are drawn to stars
Which want us not.”
― Spoon River Anthology
That one can be happy only where two are;
And that our hearts are drawn to stars
Which want us not.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“FIDDLER JONES
The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for the market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts.
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to Toor-a-Loor.
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a will-mill – only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle –
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.”
― Spoon River Anthology
The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for the market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts.
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to Toor-a-Loor.
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a will-mill – only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle –
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Suppose a boy steals an apple
From the tray at the grocery store,
And they all begin to call him a thief,
The editor, minister, judge, and all the people –
«A thief», «a thief», «a thief», wherever he goes.
And he can't get work, and he can't get bread
Without stealing it, why the boy will steal.
It's the way people regard the theft of an apple
That makes the boy what he is.”
― Spoon River Anthology
From the tray at the grocery store,
And they all begin to call him a thief,
The editor, minister, judge, and all the people –
«A thief», «a thief», «a thief», wherever he goes.
And he can't get work, and he can't get bread
Without stealing it, why the boy will steal.
It's the way people regard the theft of an apple
That makes the boy what he is.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Back of every soldier is a woman.”
― Spoon River Anthology
― Spoon River Anthology
“Viandante,
amare è ritrovare la propria anima
traverso l'anima dell'amato.
Quando l'amato se ne stacca,
allora tu l'hai perduta.
È scritto: "Ho un amico,
ma il mio dolore non ha amici".”
― Spoon River Anthology
amare è ritrovare la propria anima
traverso l'anima dell'amato.
Quando l'amato se ne stacca,
allora tu l'hai perduta.
È scritto: "Ho un amico,
ma il mio dolore non ha amici".”
― Spoon River Anthology
“And then I knew I was one of Life's fools,
Whom only death would treat as the equal
Of other men”
― Spoon River Anthology
Whom only death would treat as the equal
Of other men”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Go to the good heart that is my husband,
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love: –
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny – that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through the spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.”
― Spoon River Anthology
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love: –
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny – that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through the spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“KNOWLT HOHEIMER
I was the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge.
When I felt the bullet water my heart
I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail
For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary,
Instead of running away and joining the army.
Rather a thousand times the country jail
That to lie under his marble figure with wings,
And this granite pedestal
Bearing the words, «Pro Patria».
What do they mean, anyway?”
― Spoon River Anthology
I was the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge.
When I felt the bullet water my heart
I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail
For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary,
Instead of running away and joining the army.
Rather a thousand times the country jail
That to lie under his marble figure with wings,
And this granite pedestal
Bearing the words, «Pro Patria».
What do they mean, anyway?”
― Spoon River Anthology
“At last you get in – but you hear a step:
The ogre, Life, comes into the room,
(He was waiting and heard the clang of the spring)
To watch you nibble the wondrous cheese,
And stare with his burning eyes at you,
And scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you,
Running up and down in the trap,
Until your misery bores him.”
― Spoon River Anthology
The ogre, Life, comes into the room,
(He was waiting and heard the clang of the spring)
To watch you nibble the wondrous cheese,
And stare with his burning eyes at you,
And scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you,
Running up and down in the trap,
Until your misery bores him.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Margaret Fuller Slack I WOULD have been as great as George Eliot But for an untoward fate. For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, Chin resting on hand, and deep—set eyes— Gray, too, and far-searching. But there was the old, old problem: Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity? Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me, Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel, And I married him, giving birth to eight children, And had no time to write. It was all over with me, anyway, When I ran the needle in my hand While washing the baby’s things, And died from lock—jaw, an ironical death. Hear me, ambitious souls, Sex is the curse of life.”
― Spoon River Anthology
― Spoon River Anthology
“Whenever the Presbyterian bell
Was rung by itself, I knew it as the Presbyterian bell.
But when its sound was mingled
With the sound of the Methodist, the Christian,
The Baptist and the Congregational,
I could no longer distinguish it.
Nor any one from the others, or either of them.”
― Spoon River Anthology
Was rung by itself, I knew it as the Presbyterian bell.
But when its sound was mingled
With the sound of the Methodist, the Christian,
The Baptist and the Congregational,
I could no longer distinguish it.
Nor any one from the others, or either of them.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“There is something about Death
Like love itself!
If with some one with whom you have known passion,
And the glow of youthful love,
You also, after years of life
Together, feel the sinking of the fire,
And thus fade away together,
Gradually, faintly, delicately,
As it were in each other's arms,
Passing from the familiar room-
That is a power of unison between souls
Like love itself!”
― Spoon River Anthology
Like love itself!
If with some one with whom you have known passion,
And the glow of youthful love,
You also, after years of life
Together, feel the sinking of the fire,
And thus fade away together,
Gradually, faintly, delicately,
As it were in each other's arms,
Passing from the familiar room-
That is a power of unison between souls
Like love itself!”
― Spoon River Anthology
“As a boy, Theodore, you sat for long hours
On the shore of the turbid Spoon
With deep-set eye staring at the door of the crawfish's burrow,
Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead,
First his waving antennae, like straws of hay,
And soon his body, colored like soap-stone,
Gemmed with eyes of jet.
And you wondered in a trance of thought
What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all.”
― Spoon River Anthology
On the shore of the turbid Spoon
With deep-set eye staring at the door of the crawfish's burrow,
Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead,
First his waving antennae, like straws of hay,
And soon his body, colored like soap-stone,
Gemmed with eyes of jet.
And you wondered in a trance of thought
What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Their spirits beat upon mine
Like the wings of a thousand butterflies.
I closed my eyes and felt their spirits vibrating.
I closed my eyes, yet I knew when their lashes
Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes”
― Spoon River Anthology
Like the wings of a thousand butterflies.
I closed my eyes and felt their spirits vibrating.
I closed my eyes, yet I knew when their lashes
Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree.
The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass,
The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls,
But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous
In the blest Nirvana of eternal light!
Go to the good heart that is my husband,
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love–
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny–that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.”
― Spoon River Anthology
The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass,
The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls,
But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous
In the blest Nirvana of eternal light!
Go to the good heart that is my husband,
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love–
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny–that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.”
― Spoon River Anthology
“Минерва Джоунс
Минерва, селската поетеса съм аз,
осмивана, подигравана от местните дебелаци
заради тежко тяло, кривогледи очи и тромав вървеж,
особено когато Уелди Касапчето ме хвана накрая
след бясна гонитба.
Изоставена със злочестината си в ръцете на д-р Мейърс,
бавно затъвах в смъртта, плъзнала нагоре
по скованите ми нозе,
като човек, който нагазва все по-дълбоко
в леден поток.
Ще порови ли някой в селския вестник,
ще събера ли в книга стиховете, които съм отпечатала?
Бях толкова жадна за обич!
И на живот - ненаситна!”
― Spoon River Anthology
Минерва, селската поетеса съм аз,
осмивана, подигравана от местните дебелаци
заради тежко тяло, кривогледи очи и тромав вървеж,
особено когато Уелди Касапчето ме хвана накрая
след бясна гонитба.
Изоставена със злочестината си в ръцете на д-р Мейърс,
бавно затъвах в смъртта, плъзнала нагоре
по скованите ми нозе,
като човек, който нагазва все по-дълбоко
в леден поток.
Ще порови ли някой в селския вестник,
ще събера ли в книга стиховете, които съм отпечатала?
Бях толкова жадна за обич!
И на живот - ненаситна!”
― Spoon River Anthology
“But a man can never avenge himself on the monstrous ogre Life.”
― Spoon River Anthology
― Spoon River Anthology
“whoso enters the vineyard at the eleventh hour Cf. Matthew 20:1-16.”
― Spoon River Anthology
― Spoon River Anthology
“Seurasinko totuutta, minne ikinä se johtikin,
uhmasinko koko maailmaa sen puolesta
ja autoinko heikkoja väkeviä vastaan?
Jos tein niin, minut tullaan muistamaan ihmisten keskuudessa
sellaisena kuin olin ja minä minua
rakastettiin ja vihattiin elämässä.
Sen vuoksi, älkää pystyttäkö minulle muistomerkkiä,
älkää veistäkö kuvaa minusta
ettei - vaikken tulisikaan puolijumalaksi -
todellinen olemukseni unohtuisi
niin että varkaat ja valehtelijat,
jotka olivat vihollisiani ja tuhosivat elämäni,
tai varkaiden ja valehtelijoiden lapset
voisi tulla väittämään minua omakseen
ja kuvani edessä seisten vakuuttamaan
seisoneensa rinnallani tappioni päivinä.
Älkää pystyttäkö minulle muistomerkkiä,
ettei muistoani väärinkäytettäisi
valheen ja sorron hyväksi.
Minua ei saa ryöstää niiltä jotka rakastivat minua
eikä heidän lapsiltaan ;
minä haluan ikuisesti ja tahrattomana
kuulua niille
joiden puolesta elin.
Herman Altman”
― Spoon River Anthology
uhmasinko koko maailmaa sen puolesta
ja autoinko heikkoja väkeviä vastaan?
Jos tein niin, minut tullaan muistamaan ihmisten keskuudessa
sellaisena kuin olin ja minä minua
rakastettiin ja vihattiin elämässä.
Sen vuoksi, älkää pystyttäkö minulle muistomerkkiä,
älkää veistäkö kuvaa minusta
ettei - vaikken tulisikaan puolijumalaksi -
todellinen olemukseni unohtuisi
niin että varkaat ja valehtelijat,
jotka olivat vihollisiani ja tuhosivat elämäni,
tai varkaiden ja valehtelijoiden lapset
voisi tulla väittämään minua omakseen
ja kuvani edessä seisten vakuuttamaan
seisoneensa rinnallani tappioni päivinä.
Älkää pystyttäkö minulle muistomerkkiä,
ettei muistoani väärinkäytettäisi
valheen ja sorron hyväksi.
Minua ei saa ryöstää niiltä jotka rakastivat minua
eikä heidän lapsiltaan ;
minä haluan ikuisesti ja tahrattomana
kuulua niille
joiden puolesta elin.
Herman Altman”
― Spoon River Anthology
“[...] Ma invece mi elevai un poco nella vita,
e lo devo a un libro che lessi.
Ma perché andai a Mason City
Dove mi accadde di vedere il libro in vetrina,
con la copertina sgargiante che mi allettò l’occhio?
E perché la mia anima rispose al libro
Via via che lo leggevo?”
― Antologia di Spoon River - Il nuovo Spoon River
e lo devo a un libro che lessi.
Ma perché andai a Mason City
Dove mi accadde di vedere il libro in vetrina,
con la copertina sgargiante che mi allettò l’occhio?
E perché la mia anima rispose al libro
Via via che lo leggevo?”
― Antologia di Spoon River - Il nuovo Spoon River
