Sappho Quotes

someone will remember us I say even in another time

The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers. I'm thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of course Sappho. You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.

You may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us

Sweet mother, I cannot weave – slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl.

What cannot be said will be wept.

May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve.

their heart grew cold they let their wings down

In the crooks of your body, I find my religon.

There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.

What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful.

Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us.

You came and I was longing for you. You cooled a heart that burned with desire.

Stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes.

you came and I was crazy for you and you cooled my mind that burned with longing

Know thyself,’ said Socrates. Know thyself,’ said Sappho, ‘and make sure that the Church never finds out.

Although only breath, words which I command are immortal.

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

you burn me

I declare That later on, Even in an age unlike our own, Someone will remember who we are.

Love shook my heart Like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees.

You are, I think, an evening star, the fairest of all the stars.

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

In fact she herself once blamed me Kyprogeneia because I prayed this word: I want.

You will have memories Because of what we did back then When we were new at this, Yes, we did many things, then - all Beautiful...

...gracious your form and your eyes as honey : desire is poured upon your lovely face Aphrodite has honored you exceedingly...

Eros, again now, the loosener of limbs troubles me, Bittersweet, sly, uncontrollable creature….

I know not what to do, my mind is divided

The gleaming stars all about the shining moon Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth with clear silver light.

I would not think to touch the sky with two arms

You may blame Aphrodite soft as she is she has almost killed me with love for that boy

may you sleep on the breast of your delicate friend

The moon has set And the Pleiades. Midnight. I lie in bed alone.

Without the gods, how would I sing?' I asked. With your own voice,' he said.

Check it out-this is a copy of a painting of a Greek High Priestess named Calliope. it says she was also the Poet Laureate after Sappho. Doesn't she look exactly like Cher?' Wow, that's insane. She does look just like young Cher,' Erin said. Yeah, before she started wearing those white wigs. What the hell's up with that?' Shaunee said. Damien gave the Twins a look. 'There is nothing wrong with Cher. Absolutely. Nothing.' Uh-oh,' Shaunee said. Stepped on a gay nerve,' Erin agreed.

yet if you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just

I have not had one word from her Frankly I wish I were dead When she left, she wept a great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly." I said, "Go, and be happy but remember (you know well) whom you leave shackled by love "If you forget me, think of our gifts to Aphrodite and all the loveliness that we shared "all the violet tiaras, braided rosebuds, dill and crocus twined around your young neck "myrrh poured on your head and on soft mats girls with all that they most wished for beside them "while no voices chanted choruses without ours, no woodlot bloomed in spring without song...

I declare That later on, Even in an age unlike our own, Someone will remember who we are.

]sing to us the one with violets in her lap ]mostly ]goes astray

Great loves have legs and wings. They are substantial. They do not dissapate so easily... Great loves have staying power. Or so I told myself.

Come to me now and loosen me from blunt agony. Labor and fill my heart with fire. Stand by me and be my ally.

The evening star Is the most beautiful of all stars

You searched through all my poets, From Sappho through to Auden, I saw the book fall from your hands, As you slowly died of boredom.

But the act, called the sexual act, is not for the depositing of seed. It is for leaping off into the unknown, as from a cliff's edge, like Sappho into the sea.

Some say an army of horsemen, or infantry, A fleet of ships is the fairest thing On the face of the black earth, but I say It's what one loves.

Now the Earth with many flowers puts on her spring embroidery

] ]you will remember ]for we in our youth did these things yes many and beautiful things ] ] ]

stars around the beautiful moon hide back their luminous form whenever all full she shines on the earth silvery

Raise high the roof beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.

Mister Cameron - I have read the unexpurgated Ovid, the love poems of Sappho, the Decameron in the original, and a great many texts in Greek and Latin histories that were not though fit for proper gentlemen to read, much less proper ladies. I know in precise detail what Caligula did to, and with, his sisters, and I can quote it to you in Latin or in my own translation if you wish. I am interested in historical truth, and truth in history is often unpleasant and distasteful to those of fine sensibility. I frankly doubt that you will produce anything to shock me.

But if the gods do not exist at all - then we are lost,' I said. On the contrary - we are found!' said Aesop. But when we are afraid, who can we turn to, if not the gods?' Ourselves. We turn to ourselves anyway. We only pretend there are gods and that they care about us. It is a comforting falsehood.

Come to me once more, and abate my torment; Take the bitter care from my mind, and give me All I long for; Lady, in all my battles Fight as my comrade.

Although they are only breath, words which I command are immortal

If you are squeamish Don't prod the beach rubble.

Honestly, I wish I were dead. Weeping many tears, she left me and said, “Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho. I really leave you against my will.” And I answered: “Farewell, go and remember me. You know how we cared for you. If not, I would remind you ... of our wonderful times. For by my side you put on many wreaths of roses and garlands of flowers around your soft neck. And with precious and royal perfume you anointed yourself. On soft beds you satisfied your passion. And there was no dance, no holy place from which we were absent.

I emphasize the distinction between brackets and no brackets because it will affect your reading experience, if you will allow it. Brackets are exciting. Even though you are approaching Sappho in translation, that is no reason you should miss the drama of trying to read a papyrus torn in half or riddled with holes or smaller than a postage stamp--brackets imply a free space of imaginal adventure.

I simply want to be dead. Weeping she left me with many tears and said this: Oh how badly things have turned out for us. Sappho, I swear, against my will I leave you. And I answered her: Rejoice, go and remember me. For you know how we cherished you.

Because I prayed this word: I want

and on a soft bed delicate you would let loose your longing

Sappho begins with a sweet apple and ends in infinite hunger.

Evening you gather back all that dazzling dawn has put asunder: you gather a lamb, gather a kid, gather a child to its mother.

I want to say something but shame prevents me yet if you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say, shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just

I don't know what to do two states of mind in me

Although only breath, words which I speak are immortal.

gathering flowers so very delicate a girl

[I was dreaming of you but] just then Dawn, in her golden sandals [woke me]

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry out when she is pierced by thorns.

No holy place existed without us then, no woodland, no dance, no sound. Beyond all hope, I prayed those timeless days we spent might be made twice as long. I prayed one word: I want. Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.

not one girl I think who looks on the light of the sun will ever have wisdom like this

Some men say an army of horse and some men say an arm on foot / and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing / on the black earth. But I say it is / what you love.

You write poetry?" Klaus asked. He had read a lot about poets but had never met one. "Just a little bit," Isadora said modestly. "I write poems down in this notebook. It's an interest of mine." "Sappho!" Sunny shrieked, which meant something like, "I'd be very pleased to hear a poem of yours!

When they were tired Night rained her thick dark sleep upon their eyes.

Someone will remember us I say Even in another time

for when i look at you, even a moment, no speaking is left in me no: tongue breaks and thin fire is racing under skin

]Sardis often turning her thoughts here ] you like a goddess and in your song most of all she rejoiced. But now she is conspicuous among Lydian women as sometimes at sunset the rosyfingered moon surpasses all the stars. And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields. And the beautiful dew is poured out and roses bloom and frail chervil and flowering sweetclover. But she goes back and forth remembering gentle Atthis and in longing she bites her tender mind

of all stars the most beautiful

Eros the melter of limbs (now again) stirs me - sweetbitter unmanageable creature who steals in

Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.

What creature is it that is female in nature and hides in its womb unborn children who, although they are voiceless, speak to people far away? The female creature is a letter. The unborn children are the letters (of the alphabet) it carries. And the letters, although they have no voices, speak to people far away.

For me, neither the honey nor the bee.

Eros once again limb-loosener whirls me sweetbitter, impossible to fight off, creature stealing up...I don't know what I should do: two states of mind in me...

frequently for those I treat well are the ones who most of all harm me

Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor.

In the end he became as fragmentary as the poems of Sappho he never succeeded in restoring, and finally one morning he looked up into the face of the woman who’d been the greatest love of his life and failed to recognize her. And then there was another kind of blow inside his head; blood pooled in his brain for the last time, washing even the last fragments of his self away.

For the man who is beautiful is beautiful to see but the good man will at once also beautiful be

…You are, I think, an evening star, of all the stars, the fairest…

As sometimes at sunset the rosyfingered moon surpasses all the stars. And her light stretches over salt sea equally and flowerdeep fields.

Then you my goddess with your immortal lips smiling Would ask what now afflicts me, why again I am calling and what now I with my restive heart Desired: Whom now shall I beguile To bring you to her love? Who now injures you, Sappho? For if she flees, soon shall she chase And, rejecting gifts, soon shall she give. If she does not love you, she shall do so soon Whatsoever is her will. Come to me now to end this consuming pain Bringing what my heart desires to be brought: Be yourself my ally in this fight.

I am weary of all your words and soft, strange ways.

Do you prefer him or her? Either one's cool-I'm genderfluid.

Once again Love, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet and inescapable, crawling thing, seizes me.

neither for me honey nor the honey bee

Like a gale smiting an oak On mountainous terrain, Eros, with a stroke, Shattered my brain.

You ask whether I have ever been in love: fool as I am, I am not such a fool as that. But if one is only to talk from first-hand experience, conversation would be a very poor business. But though I have no personal experience of the things they call love, I have what is better - the experience of Sappho, of Euripides, of Catallus, of Shakespeare, of Spenser, of Austen, of Bronte, of anyone else I have read.

Eros shook my mind like a mountain wind falling on oak trees.

but me you have forgotten or you love some man more than me

The dice of love are shouting and madness.

A precious mouldering pleasure 't is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take, And warming in our own, A passage back, or two, to make To times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, His knowledge to unfold On what concerns our mutual mind. The literature of old; What interested scholars most, What competitions ran When Plato was a certainty, And Sophocles a man; When Sappho was a living girl, And Beatrice wore The gown that Dante deified. Facts, centuries before, He traverses familiar, As one should come to town And tell you all your dreams were true: He lived where dreams were born. His presence is enchantment, You beg him not to go; Old volumes shake their vellum heads And tantalize just so.

Girls, be good to these spirits of music and poetry that breast your threshold with their scented gifts. Lift the lyre, clear and sweet, they leave with you. As for me, this body is now so arthritic I cannot play, hardly even hold the instrument. Can you believe my white hair was once black? And oh, the soul grows heavy with the body. Complaining knee-joints creak at every move. To think I danced as delicate as a deer! Some gloomy poems came from these thoughts: useless: we are all born to lose life, and what is worse, girls, to lose youth. The legend of the goddess of the dawn I’m sure you know: how rosy Eos madly in love with gorgeous young Tithonus swept him like booty to her hiding-place but then forgot he would grow old and grey while she in despair pursued her immortal way.

ERANNA TO SAPPHO O You wild adept at throwing! Like a spear by other things, I'd lain there beside my next of kin. Your strain flung me far. To where's beyond my knowing. None can bring me back again. Sisters think upon me as they twine, and the house is full of warm relation. I alone am out of the design, and I tremble like a supplication; for the lovely goddess all creation bowers in legend lives this life of mine. SAPPHO TO ERANNA With unrest I want to inundate you, want to brandish you, you vine-wreathed stave. Want, like death itself, to penetrate you and to pass you onwards like the grave to the All: to all these things that wait you.

Some say an army of horsemen, some of footsoldiers, some of ships, is the fairest thing on the black earth, but I say it is what one loves. It's very easy to make this clear to everyone, for Helen, by far surpassing mortals in beauty, left the best of all husbands and sailed to Troy, mindful of neither her child nor her dear parents, but with one glimpse she was seduced by Aphrodite. For easily bent... and nimbly...[missing text]... has reminded me now of Anactoria who is not here; I would much prefer to see the lovely way she walks and the radiant glance of her face than the war-chariots of the Lydians or their footsoldiers in arms.