Hell is the special pain that dwells in that loss which you yourself have caused. — Elliot Perlman, Seven Types of Ambiguity. (Riverhead Books December 6, 2005)
A warm and mild haze hung around the trees; the moon was going down in a west of gold and silk like some full and divine womb … My chest was thumping as if my heart were drunk … — Juan Ramón Jiménez, from “The Lamb Was Bleating Softly,” Lorca & Jimenez: Selected Poems (Beacon… Continue reading Juan Ramón Jiménez
He loved her, he loved her, and until he’d loved her she had never minded being alone. — Truman Capote, Summer Crossing. (Modern Library; Reprint edition June 27, 2006) Started in 1943, published posthumously.
Not often, but now and again there’s a moment when the heart cries aloud: yes, I am willing to be that wild darkness, that long, blue body of light. — Mary Oliver, from “Whelks,” New and Selected Poems: Vol. 1. (Beacon Press; Revised edition 1 July 2004)
The self is a relation which relates itself to its own self, or it is that in the relation that the relation relates itself to its own self; the self is not the relation but that the relation relates itself to its own self. ― Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death. (Princeton University Press; unknown… Continue reading Søren Kierkegaard
My poem would eat nothing. I tried to give it water but it said no, worrying me. Day after day, I held it up to the light turning it over, but it only pressed its lips more tightly together. — Larry Levis, from “The Poem You Asked For.” Wrecking Crew: Poems. (Univ of Pittsburgh Pr… Continue reading Larry Levis
To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing. — Anne Carson, review and excerpt of Red Doc> (Alfred A. Knopf, 2013) Bodega Broadside No. 1, February 2013