…if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?” ― H.D., from “The Walls Do Not Fall,” Trilogy: The Walls Do Not Fall / Tribute to the Angels / The Flowering of the Rod. (New Directions; Reprint edition September 17, 1998) Originally published January… Continue reading H.D.
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. ― John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men. (Penguin; Reprint edition January 8, 2002) Originally published 1937.
Basked in the sun, listened to birds, licked off raindrops, and only in flight the leaf saw the tree and grasped what it had been. ― Vera Pavlova, “Basked in the sun,” If There is Something to Desire: One Hundred Poems. (Knopf January 10, 2012)
Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us? ― Lawrence Durrell, Justine. (Penguin; Reprint edition July 12, 1991)
One Art The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing… Continue reading Elizabeth Bishop
That is the secret of poetry. We burn in the woman we adore, we burn in the thought we espouse, we burn in the landscape that moves us. — Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics; Reprint edition (April 7, 1999)
I would say a few words in your ear. A doubtful man has little faith. Live a long time and it gets dark, and suddenly you know you don’t know yourself. But I’d say them even so. Since my eyes repeat what they take in: your beauty, your name, the river’s sound, the woods,… Continue reading Vicente Aleixandre,
There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship’s, smooths and contains the rocker. It’s an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own. A dry and… Continue reading Toni Morrison
[A]nd I wait Like a word you do not know, in a novel You are going to read: a word that you will know. — Randall Jarrell, from “He,” The Complete Poems (Noonday Press, 1990)
I love her for what she has dared to be, for her hardness, her cruelty, her egoism, her perverseness, her demoniac destructiveness. She would crush me to ashes without hesitation. She is a personality created to the limit. I worship her courage to hurt, and I am willing to be sacrificed to it. She will… Continue reading Anaïs Nin