There she was, the mother of me, like a lit plinth,Heavenly, though I was reared to find this kind Of visitation impractical; she was an unbearable detailOf the supreme celestial map,Of which I had been taught that there wasNo such thing.
-Lucie Brock-Broido
Select a background
More quotes by Lucie Brock-Broido
Popular Authors
A curated listing of popular authors.