The Visiting I suffer from insomnia, from loneliness I sleep; in the midst of the talk and the laughter all at once you are there— Hour of waking up and writhing with humiliation, or of wishes answered before one was aware of what they were. And let me ask you this: the dead, where aren’t… Continue reading Franz Wright
And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death. — Walt Whitman, from strophe 13, “Starting from Paumanok,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published July 4, 1855.
in this room the hours of love still make shadows. — Charles Bukowski, from “For Jane,” The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems. (Ecco October 30, 2007)
He thought about his people without sentimentality, with a strict dosing of his accounts with life, beginning to understand how much he really loved the people he hated most. […] In the shattered schoolhouse where for the first time he had felt the security of power, a few feet from the room where he had… Continue reading Gabriel García Márquez
There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. — William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, Act IV, Scene v