Enough Rope quotes

Lips that taste of tears, they say, Are the best for kissing.

Oh, sad are winter nights, and slow; And sad's a song that's dumb; And sad it is to lie and know Another dawn will come.

"The heart that breaks in April, child, Will mend in May again."

Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse.

His voice went slipping over me Like terrible silver hands.

I wore my heart like a wet, red stain On the breast of a velvet gown.

All my pretty hates are dead, And what have I left?

Where's the man could ease a heart Like a satin gown?

Let me, for our happiness, Be the one to love the less: This is what I pray.

Lovers' oaths are thin as rain; Love's a harbinger of pain— Would it were not so!

So silent I when Love was by He yawned, and turned away; But Sorrow clings to my apron-strings, I have so much to say.

Like January weather, The years will bite and smart, And pull your bones together To wrap your chattering heart.

Best to sit and watch the snow, Turn the lock, and poke the fire.

Days, like drops upon a pane, Slip, and join, and go.

I am sister to the rain; Fey and sudden and unholy, Petulant at the windowpane, Quickly lost, remembered slowly.

Would we need not know before How shall end this prettiness; One of us must love the more, One of us shall love the less.

Yet this the need of woman, this her curse: To range her little gifts, and give, and give, Because the throb of giving's sweet to bear.

Come back in half an hour or so, And I will be in trouble.

(All your life you wait around for some damn man!)

By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is Infinite, undying— Lady, make a note of this: One of you is lying.

These authors and playwrights, I'm forced to suppose, Don't get around much.

Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die: Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania.

Oh, is it, then, Utopian To hope that I may meet a man Who'll not relate, in accents suave, The tales of girls he used to have?

The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core— Scratch a lover, and find a foe!

But I am old; and good and bad Are woven in a crazy plaid.

Inertia rides and riddles me; The which is called Philosophy.

You wear your joy of living like a crown.

Oh, seek, my love, your newer way; I'll not be left in sorrow. So long as I have yesterday, Go take your damned to-morrow!

Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get One perfect rose.

I loved them until they loved me.

With you, my heart is quiet here, And all my thoughts are cool as rain. I sit and let the shifting year Go by before the window-pane, And reach my hand to yours, my dear ... I wonder what it's like in Spain.

My own dear love, he is all my world,— And I wish I'd never met him.

But now I know the things I know, And do the things I do; And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you!

Men seldom make passes At girls who wear glasses.

But you are a man, and see only my pan, So I stay at home with a book.

Travel, trouble, music, art, A kiss, a frock, a rhyme,— I never said they feed my heart, But still they pass my time.

But I shall stay the way I am, Because I do not give a damn.

I shudder at the thought of men.... I'm due to fall in love again.

But say my verses do not scan, And I get me another man!

Oh, both my shoes are shiny new, And pristine is my hat; My dress is 1922.... My life is all like that.

I took you, and I let him go,— Somebody ought to examine my head!

Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine; The second love was water, in a clear white cup; The third love was his, and the fourth was mine; And after that, I always get them all mixed up.

Some men break your heart in two, Some men fawn and flatter, Some men never look at you; And that cleans up the matter.