Edith Sitwell

Image of Edith Sitwell
One's own surroundings means so much to one, when one is feeling miserable.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Mean
Image of Edith Sitwell
The poet is the complete lover of mankind.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Lovers
Image of Edith Sitwell
Art is magic, not logic. This craze for the logical spirit in irrational shape is part of the present harmful mania for uniformity.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Art
Image of Edith Sitwell
Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone, And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood, Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Lonely
Image of Edith Sitwell
If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Children
Image of Edith Sitwell
the arts are life accelerated and concentrated.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Art
Image of Edith Sitwell
My poems are hymns of praise to the glory of life.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Life
Image of Edith Sitwell
it is as unseeing to ask what is the use of poetry as it would be to ask what is the use of religion.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Poetry
Image of Edith Sitwell
The trouble with most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation... they do not want to attract attention.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Dresses
Image of Edith Sitwell
Rhythm is one of the principal translators between dream and reality. Rhythm might be described as, to the world of sound, what light is to the world of sight. It shapes and gives new meaning. Rhythm was described by Schopenhauer as melody deprived of its pitch.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Dream
Image of Edith Sitwell
What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Art
Image of Edith Sitwell
If one is a greyhound, why try to look like a Pekingese?
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Trying
Image of Edith Sitwell
The living blind and seeing Dead together lie As if in love . . . There was no more hating then, And no more love; Gone is the heart of Man.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Hate
Image of Edith Sitwell
I wouldn't dream of following a fashion... how could one be a different person every three months?
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Dream
Image of Edith Sitwell
The reason why Matthew Arnold, to my feeling, fails entirely as a poet (though no doubt his ideas were good - at least, I am told they were) is that he had no sense of touch whatsoever. Nothing made any impression on his skin. He could feel neither the shape nor the texture of a poem with his hands.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Ideas
Image of Edith Sitwell
What the reporters are like! They are mad with excitement at the thought of my approaching demise. Kind Sister Farquhar, my nurse, spends much of her time in throwing them downstairs. But one got in the other day, and asked me if I mind the fact that I must die.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Nurse
Image of Edith Sitwell
By the time I was eleven years old, I had been taught that nature, far from abhorring a Vacuum, positively adores it.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Nature
Image of Edith Sitwell
People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: People
Image of Edith Sitwell
Our hearts seemed safe in our breasts and sang to the Light The marrow in the bone We dreamed was safe. . . the blood in the veins, the sap in the tree Were springs of Deity.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Spring
Image of Edith Sitwell
Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Alcohol
Image of Edith Sitwell
The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and white As powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy: The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies; And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare Bright pilgrim past our ken, should see Hints of Reality.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Dream
Image of Edith Sitwell
I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Thinking
Image of Edith Sitwell
The trouble about most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation, or hope to be one in the next.
- Edith Sitwell
Collection: Women