I equate love (bodies touching indecently) to the limitlessness of being – to nausea, to the sun, and to death. —Georges Bataille, from “La Scissiparié,” Oeuvres Completes III. (Editions Flammarion July 27, 1984) Originally published in Les Cahiers de la Pléiade, Spring 1949.
Memory invents another present. As it invents myself. What has been lived blurs with today. —Octavio Paz, from “Preparatory Exercise,” A Tree Within, trans. Eliot Weinberger (New Directions, 1988)
A world without poetry and art would be too much like one without birds or flowers: bearable but a lot less enjoyable. ― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry. (lulu.com May 28, 2014)
Death Is Nothing At All Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were… Continue reading Henry Scott Holland
I loved you so much once. I did. More than anything in the whole wide world. Imagine that. What a laugh that is now. Can you believe it? We were so intimate once upon a time I can’t believe it now. The memory of being that intimate with somebody. We were so intimate I could… Continue reading Raymond Carver