Your whole body is A glass of wine Or sweetness destined for me. When I raise my hand, I find in every place a dove Seeking for me, As if, my love, You were made of clay For my very hands of a potter. Your knees, your breasts, Your waist, Disappear in me like in… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Tenderness is the repose of passion. — Joseph Joubert, The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert. (NYRB Classics; Main edition May 10, 2005) Originally published October 1983.
In the street, stars collide, parts of their bodies breaking off like chunks of salt. Still, you hold her, you’re not letting go. She’s the bright-colored bird with real feathers and a toy heart, or toy feathers and a real heart. When all this started you were lying on a couch. Now your rise through… Continue reading Gregory Orr
There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars. — Jack Kerouac, On the Road. (Penguin Books December 28, 1976) Oribinally published September 5th 1957.
it’s always when a man’s swollen with love and everything else that it keeps raining splattering flooding rain good for the trees and the grass and the air… good for things that live alone. — Charles Bukowski, from “Prayer in Bad Weather,” Love Is a Dog from Hell: Poems, 1974-1977. (Ecco; Ecco edition May 31,… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
But you see, the measure of hell you’re able to endure is the measure of your love. ― Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged. (Berkley; Reprint edition August 1, 1999) Originally published 1957.
Night Walk The all-night convenience store’s empty and no one is behind the counter. You open and shut the glass door a few times causing a bell to go off, but no one appears. You only came to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe a copy of yesterday’s newspaper — finally you take one and… Continue reading Franz Wright
…your smile more enduring, when it illuminates your sorrow. — Rainer Maria Rilke, The Sonnets To Orpheus. (W. W. Norton & Company; 1 edition April 17, 2006) Originally published 1922.
In my dream you are sitting out at the edge of the water, watching me wade towards you in the dark: time has stood still since the river leached out the last thread of warmth and left you to dry, — John Burnside, from “A Swimming Lesson,” Swimming in the Flood. (Trafalgar Square November 1997)
It was nice – in the dark and the quiet… and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing. — John Green, Paper Towns. (Speak September 22, 2009)