A Quote by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Death devours all lovely things. — © Edna St. Vincent Millay
Death devours all lovely things.
Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness--presently Every bed is narrow.
The harsh, useful things of the world, from pulling teeth to digging potatoes, are best done by men who are as starkly sober as so many convicts in the death-house, but the lovely and useless things, the charming and exhilarating things, are best done by men with, as the phrase is, a few sheets in the wind.
Tempus edax rerum. Time that devours all things.
All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die; And youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.
That lovely things exist is a lovely thought.
Eyes like streams of melting snow, cold with the things she does not know. Heaven above and Hell beneath, liquid flames to hide her grief. Death, death, death with no release. Death, death, death with no release.
Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate death.
The lovely Hazard girls', they used to call them. Huh. Lovely is as lovely does; if they looked like what they behave like, they'd frighten little children.
There's this label called Neurotica by these sweet girls that have given me some lovely things to wear, and we might collaborate on making a little piece. They're really lovely, and I think they've been quite inspired by me in turn.
It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death.
Christ is lovely, Christ is very lovely, Christ is most lovely, Christ is always lovely, Christ is altogether lovely.
You make me lovely, and it's so lovely to be lovely to the one I love.
I'd like to think that I'd helped people all over the world to question the things they otherwise would have accepted as the truth. I'd also like to think that I'd charmed them a bit with my lovely vocal stylings and the baring of my lovely arse.
All earthly suns have their spots: the fair world itself has its wilderness. We cannot love the whole of most lovely things: but Christ Jesus is gold without alloy-light without darkness- glory without cloud. 'Yea, He is altogether lovely.'
I once read that you die because you see the Angel of Death, and you fall in love. And you fall in love so hard your soul is sucked out through your eyes, and that's the moment of death. It's a lovely, strange old Jewish legend.
Sleep is lovely, death is better still, not to have been born is of course the miracle.
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