“Poetic approaches to the limits of fabrication are not so historically determined. Sometime around 1862, Emily Dickinson starts a poem with “I cannot live with You –”, then proceeds to unfold a labyrinth of grammatical, theological, and syllogistic implications before arriving at the following decisive formulation: “So We must meet apart – / You there… Continue reading Nathan Brown
Snow, delicate snow, that falls with such lightness on the head, on the feelings, come and cover over the sadness that lies always in my reason. — Miguel de Unamuno, from “The Snowfall Is So Silent,” Roots and Wings: Poetry from Spain 1900-1975, trans. Robert Bly (Harper & Row, 1976)
People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within. ― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Love comes in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on & on, a hollow cave in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear. Margaret Atwood, from “Postcards,” Selected Poems II: 1976 – 1986. (Mariner Books; 2nd ed. edition November 5, 1987)
To walk is to lack a place. It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper. The moving about that the city mutliplies and concentrates makes the city itself an immense social experience of lacking a place – an experience that is, to be sure, broken up into countless tiny… Continue reading Michel de Certeau
I was a butterfly caught by a fire: neither the day’s nor the night’s but the incandescence that radiates from the body like a receding sickness. Etel Adnan, from “The Manifestations of the Voyage,” The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations Of The Voyage ( Post Apollo Press, 1990)
It seems that in the advanced stages of stupidity, a lack of ideas is compensated for by an excess of ideologies. ― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. (Planeta 2013) Originally published 2008.