Robert Lowell
Robert Lowell
Robert Traill Spence Lowell IVwas an American poet. He was born into a Boston Brahmin family that could trace its origins back to the Mayflower. His family, past and present, were important subjects in his poetry. Growing up in Boston also informed his poems, which were frequently set in Boston and the New England region. The literary scholar Paula Hayes believes that Lowell mythologized New England, particularly in his early work...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth1 March 1917
CountryUnited States of America
If we see light at the end of the tunnel, it the light of the oncoming train.
It is almost never possible to do pre-licensing studies that are large enough to find very rare events with great certainty, ... We have to find the correct balance between safety and making new preventive tools -- such as vaccines -- at a cost our society can afford.
The monument sticks like a fishbone / in the city's throat.
If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.
In the end, there is no end.
We feel the machine slipping from our hands As if someone else were steering; If we see light at the end of the tunnel, It's the light of the oncoming train.
Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone; peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heel of small war--until the end of time to police the earth, a ghost orbiting forever lost in our monotonous sublime
Most poetry is very formal, but when a modern poet is formal he gets more attention for it than old poets did.
I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.
What can the dove of Jesus give You now but wisdom, exile? Stand and live, The dove has brought an olive branch to eat.
I was overcome with an attack of pathological enthusiasm.
In the end, every hypochondriac is his own prophet.
Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone
I'm sure that writing isn't a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can't be taught, it can't be what you use in teaching.