62 Quotes by Robert Lowell

Life begins to happen. My hoppped up husband drops his home disputes, and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes

I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn.

Poetry is not the record of an event: it is an event.

Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone

We are all old-timers, each of us holds a locked razor.

The Lord survives the rainbow of His will.

In the end, every hypochondriac is his own prophet.

I was overcome with an attack of pathological enthusiasm.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat.