Top 380 Mary Oliver Quotes (2025 Update)
Page 8 of 8

351. “Imagine lifting the lid from a jar and finding it filled not with darkness but with light.”

— Mary Oliver

352. “If I’ve done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.”

— Mary Oliver

353. “I would write praise poems that might serve as comforts, reminders, or even cautions if needed, to wayward minds and unawakened hearts.”

— Mary Oliver

354. “I want to sit down on the sand and look around and get dreamy; I want to see what spirits are peeking out of the faces of the roses.”

— Mary Oliver

355. “One learns thinking about writing, and by talking about writing – but primarily through writing.”

— Mary Oliver

356. “I did not think of language as the means to self-description. I thought of it as the door – a thousand opening doors! – past myself. I thought of it as the means to notice, to contemplate, to praise, and, thus, to come into power.”

— Mary Oliver

357. “I cherish two sentences and keep them close to my desk. The first is by Flaubert. I came upon it among Van Gough’s letters. It says, simply, ‘Talent is long patience, and originality an effort of will and of intense observation.”

— Mary Oliver

358. “If it is... not just one’s own accomplishment that carries one from this green and mortal world – that lifts the latch and gives a glimpse into a greater paradise – then perhaps one has the sensibility: a gratitude apart from authorship, a fervor and desire beyond the margins of the self.”

— Mary Oliver

359. “Dear Bear, it’s no use, the world is like that. So stay where you are, and live long. Someday maybe we’ll wise up and remember what you were: hopeless ambassador of a world that returns now only in poets’ dreams.”

— Mary Oliver

360. “There was someone I loved who grew old and ill. One by one I watched the fires go out. There was nothing I could do except to remember that we receive then we give back.”

— Mary Oliver

361. “When men sell their souls, where do the souls go?”

— Mary Oliver

362. “I, too, have been forced to stand close to it, and have felt the almost muscular agony of impotence before it, unable to interfere or assuage or do anything effective. Though I do – oh yes I do – believe the soul is improvable. Oh sweet and defiant hope! 5.”

— Mary Oliver

363. “Friend, I am becoming desperate. What shall I do? How quickly, if I only knew by what remedy, I would turn from the commotion of my own life. While on and on an on, the sparrow sings.”

— Mary Oliver

364. “The beauty and strangeness of the world may fill the eyes with its cordial refreshment. Equally it may offer the heart a dish of terror. On one side is radiance; on another is the abyss.”

— Mary Oliver

365. “Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth.”

— Mary Oliver

366. “To understand many things you must reach out of your own condition.”

— Mary Oliver

367. “Let me always be who I am, and then some.”

— Mary Oliver

368. “I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call Certainty.”

— Mary Oliver

369. “I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility.”

— Mary Oliver

370. “But dawn – dawn is a gift. Much is revealed about a person by his or her passion, or indifference, to this opening of the door of day. No one who loves dawn, and is abroad to see it, could be a stranger to me.”

— Mary Oliver

371. “The point is, you’re you, and that’s for keeps.”

— Mary Oliver

372. “The question is, what will it be like after the last day? Will I float into the sky or will I fray within the earth or a river – remembering nothing? How desperate I would be if I couldn’t remember the sun rising, if I couldn’t remember trees, rivers; if I couldn’t even remember, beloved, your beloved name.”

— Mary Oliver

373. “The whole business of what’s reality and what isn’t has never been solved and probably never will be. So I don’t care to be too definite about anything. I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call Certainty.”

— Mary Oliver

374. “A poem on the page speaks to the listening mind.”

— Mary Oliver

375. “Admiring is easy, but affinity, that does take some time.”

— Mary Oliver

376. “Teilhard de Chardin says somewhere that man’s most agonizing spiritual dilemma is his necessity for food, with its unavoidable attachments to suffering. Who would disagree.”

— Mary Oliver

377. “A poem should always have birds in it.”

— Mary Oliver

378. “Writing is neither vibrant life nor docile artifact but a text that would put all its money on the hope of suggestion.”

— Mary Oliver

379. “It is supposed that a writer writes what he knows about and knows well. It is not necessarily so. A writer’s subject may just as well, if not more likely, be what the writer longs for and dreams about, in an unquenchable dream, in lush detail and harsh honesty.”

— Mary Oliver

380. “Stepping out into the world, into the grass, onto the path, was always a kind of relief. I was not escaping anything. I was returning to the arena of delight.”

— Mary Oliver

381. “About God, how could he give up his secrets and still be God?”

— Mary Oliver

382. “Try to find the right place for yourself. If you can’t find it, at least dream of it.”

— Mary Oliver

383. “How does any of us live in this world? One thing compensates for another, I suppose. Sometimes what’s wrong does not hurt at all, but rather shines like a new moon.”

— Mary Oliver

384. “If this was lost, let us all be lost always.”

— Mary Oliver

385. “Why do I have so many thoughts, they are driving me crazy. Why am I always going anywhere, instead of somewhere?”

— Mary Oliver

386. “How perfect to be aboard a ship with maybe a hundred years still in my pocket, but it’s late for all of us. And in truth, the only ship there is, is the ship we are all on, burning the world as we go.”

— Mary Oliver

387. “I had believed something probably not true, yet it was wonderful to have believed it.”

— Mary Oliver

388. “A dog comes to you and lives with you in your own house, but you do not therefore own her, as you do not own the rain, or the trees, or the laws which pertain to them.”

— Mary Oliver

389. “But I want to extol not the sweetness nor the placidity of the dog, but the wilderness out of which he cannot step entirely, and from which we benefit. For wilderness is our first home too, and in our wild ride into modernity with all its concerns and problems we need also all the good attachments to that origin that we can keep or restore. Dog is one of the messengers of that rich and still magical first world.”

— Mary Oliver

390. “This is the earnest work. Each of us is given only so many mornings to do it – to look around and love the oily fur of our lives, the hoof and the grass-stained muzzle.”

— Mary Oliver

391. “What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? Would would this would be like without dogs?”

— Mary Oliver

392. “THE DISTINCTION and particular value of anything, or any person, inevitably must alter according to the time and place from which we take our view.”

— Mary Oliver

393. “So maybe it was the right way after all. If this was lost, let us all be lost always.”

— Mary Oliver

394. “What lay on the road was no mere handful of snake. It was the copperhead at last, golden under the street lamp. I hope to see everything in this world before I die.”

— Mary Oliver

395. “What shall I do? When I pick up the broom he leaves the room. When I fuss with kindling he runs for the yard. Then he’s back, and we hug for a long time. In his low-to-the-ground chest I can hear his heart slowing down. Then I rub his shoulders and kiss his feet and fondle his long hound ears. Benny, I say, don’t worry. I also know the way the old life haunts the new.”

— Mary Oliver

396. “We grew into that perilous place: we grew fond.”

— Mary Oliver