Philip Levine Quotes

With no morning the day is sold.

With no morning the day is sold.

Philip Levine

The earth drinks all that’s left of you and asks for more.

The earth drinks all that’s left of you and asks for more.

Philip Levine

About Author

Philip Levine may refer to:

Philip Levine (entrepreneur), British entrepreneur, trendsetter and artist
Philip Levine (physician) (1900–1987), Russian-born American immuno-hematologist, researched blood groups
Philip Levine (poet) (1928–2015), American populist poet, professor of English and Poet Laureate of the United States
Philip Levine (politician) (1962-), former mayor of Miami Beach, Florida

Philip Levine Quotes

With no morning the day is sold.

The earth drinks all that’s left of you and asks for more.

About Author

Let me begin again as a speckof dust caught in the night windssweeping out to sea. Let me beginthis time knowing the world issalt water and dark clouds, the worldis grinding and sighing all night, and...

If she were writing by candlelight she would now be in the dark, for a living flame would refuse to be fed by such pure exhaustion.

If she were writing by candlelight she would now be in the dark, for a living flame would refuse to be fed by such pure exhaustion. Actually she is in the dark, for the

Poetry is like truth: on one level it simply is, and as such it is available to anyone. Anyone, that is, who will spend himself or herself to receive it, for no one has an inherent right to truth. One...

I find you in these tears, few,

How weightlesswords are when nothing will do.

Oh, yes, let’s bless the imagination. It gives us the myths we live by. Let’s bless the visionary power of the human— the only animal that’s got it—, bless the exact image of your father dead and mine...

From they sack and they belly opened

As you know, Joyce was a writer who asked his reader to give him a lifetime, he said. I am that reader, and I can tell you it was a wasted life.

To be alone then, hearing only breeze, your own breath rising to answer with words you didn’t know you knew the pale questions of the full moon, to know for the first time you are without a name or nu...

We don't see the ocean, not ever, but in July and Augustwhen the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay of this valley, you could be walking through a fig orchardwhen suddenly the wind cools and...

The ship that took my mother to Ellis Islandeighty-three years ago was named The Mercy.She remembers trying to eat a bananawithout first peeling it and seeing her first orangein the hands of a young S...

The new grass rising in the hills,the cows loitering in the morning chill,a dozen or more old browns hiddenin the shadows of the cottonwoodsbeside the streambed. I go higherto where the road gives up...

I find you in these tears, few, useless and here at last. Don't come back.

My mother carried on and supported us her ambition had been to write poetry and songs.

Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it's the home of the extraordinary, the only home.

Meet some people who care about poetry the way you do. You'll have that readership. Keep going until you know you're doing work that's worthy. And then see what happens. That's my advice.

The irony is, going to work every day became the subject of probably my best poetry.