Sometimes I dream of a remote and vaporous love like the schizophrenia of a perfume. — Emil M. Cioran, All Gall is Divided. (Arcade Publishing August 25, 1999) Originally published 1952.
Kisses All the kisses I’ve ever been given, today I feel them on my mouth. And my knees feel them, the reckless ones placed there through the holes in my jeans while I sat on a car hood or a broken sofa in somebody’s basement, stoned, the way I was in those day, still amazed… Continue reading Kim Addonizio
But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them. —Dave Eggers, What Is the What. (McSweeney’s; 1 edition October 25, 2006)
Time it was And what a time it was, it was A time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago it must be I have a photograph Preserve your memories They’re all that’s left you. Simon & Garfunkel, “Bookends,” Bookends. (April 3, 1968)
I was drawn to his aloofness, the way cats gravitate toward people who’d rather avoid them. ― Rachel Hartman, Seraphina. (Ember; Reprint edition December 23, 2014) Originally published July 1st 2012.
After a certain age, there’s no one left to turn to. You’ve got to find Eurydice on your own, you’ve got To find the small crack between here and everywhere else all by yourself. How could it be otherwise? Everyone’s gone away, the houses are all empty, And overcast starts to fill the… Continue reading Charles Wright
It is the destiny of stars to collapse. — Neil deGrasse Tyson, Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Episode 8 “Sisters of the Sun.” Written by Brannon Braga. Directed by Ann Druyan & Steven Soter. April 27, 2014. Based on Cosmos: A Personal Voyage, Carl Sagan, Ann Druyan & Steven Soter. September 28, 1980 – December 21,… Continue reading Neil deGrasse
I would feed you a lie, one of the little ones—the kind that turns strangers to lovers, that turns words to poems. — Gary Jackson, from “Listening to Plath in Poetics,” Missing You, Metropolis: Poems. (Graywolf, 2010)
I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness. ― Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle. (St. Martin’s Press March 15, 1998)
Now comes the long blue cold and what shall I say but that some bird in the tree of my heart is singing. That same heart that only yesterday was a room shut tight, without dreams. Isn’t it wonderful—the cold wind and spring in the heart inexplicable. Darling girl. Picklock. — Mary Oliver, “Now comnes… Continue reading Mary Oliver