I couldn’t live where there were no trees — something vital in me would starve. — L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams. (Bantam Books; Spl Col edition September 1992) Originally published 1919.
The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time. — Philip Larkin, from “The Mower,” Collected Poems (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2001) Originally published October 10th 1988.
There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song – but in this… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space. —Charles Bukowski, from “no help for that,” You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense (Black Sparrow Press,1986)
It is fabled that we slowly lose the gift of speech with animals, that birds no longer visit our windowsills to converse. As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armor themselves against wonder. — Leonard Cohen, The Favorite Game. (Vintage; Reprint edition October 14, 2003) Originally published January 1st 1963.
Ode To Tanaquil LeClercq smiling through my own memories of painful excitement your wide eyes stare and narrow like a lost forest of childhood stolen from gypsies two eyes that are the sunset of two knees two wrists two minds and the extended philosophical column, when they conducted the dialogues … Continue reading Frank O’Hara
The essential is never to arrive anywhere, never to be anywhere. The essential is to go on squirming forever at the edge of the line, as long as there are waters and banks and ravening in heaven a sporting God to plague his creature, per pro his chosen shits. I’ve swallowed three hooks and am… Continue reading Samuel Beckett
You were gone love voice invisible presence for lack of which welling up how would I live No lightbulbs And how would I write without light corner of Nowhere and Everywhere, I swear on my own grave I’ll never move again —Franz Wright, “Moving,” The Beforelife. (Knopf; 1 Reprint edition April 2, 2002)
When I try to analyze my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
Do you dare send me away as though you were waiting for something better? There is no better. […] Only (softly, fiercely) the stars shining. Here, in the room, the bedroom. Saying I was brave, I resisted, I set myself on fire. — Louise Glück, from “Stars,” The Seven Ages. (Ecco; Reprint edition March 26,… Continue reading Louise Glück