I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread. — Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies. (Atria/Emily Bestler Books; Media Tie-In… Continue reading Isaac Marion
I have been studying the difference between solitude and loneliness, telling the story of my life to the clean warm towels taken warm from the dryer. I carry them through the house as though they were my children asleep in my arms. —Richard Jones, “White Towels,” At Last We Enter Paradise. (Copper Canyon Press July… Continue reading Richard Jones
I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. ― Kahlil Gibran, The Madman. (Waking Lion Press August 17, 2006) Originally published 1918.
In the evening my griefs come to me one by one. They tell me what I had hoped to forget. They perch on my shoulders like mourning doves. They are the color of light fading. —Linda Pastan, from “Old Woman,” The Five Stages of Grief ( W. W. Norton & Company, 1978)
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. — Friedrich Nietzsche, from Part I, Chapter 7, “On Reading and Writing,” Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1885)
Shoveling Snow with Buddha In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok you would never see him doing such a thing, tossing the dry snow over the mountain of his bare, round shoulder, his hair tied in a knot, a model of concentration. Sitting is more his speed, if that is the… Continue reading Billy Collins
And finally, love is magic, as is hatred, too, imprinting as they do upon the brain the image of a being whom we allow to haunt us. — Marguerite Yourcenar, L’Œuvre au noir/The Abyss. (Assimil Gmbh; Presumed to be 1st as edition is unstated edition June 25, 1976) Originally published 1968.