Always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours. — Virginia Woolf, The Hours. (Picador November 1, 2002) Originally published November 1998.
My hands lifted it up and I gazed as if the sea were alive in that single drop, as if amid the struggle of the earth and the waters one flower were to raise a small banner of blue flame, of irresistible peace, of indomitable purity.… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
Without anxiety and illness I should have been like a ship without a rudder. — Edvard Munch
We’re a dream drifting down on a beach in the rain in the sleep of our lives … We are troubled by sea and sky. Our words dissolve in the waves. On the edges of speech is the sound of the rain coming down. It comes down. — B. H. Fairchild, from “At Omaha Beach,”… Continue reading B. H. Fairchild
When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn’t have you by the throat. — Charles Bukowski, Factotum. (Ecco May 31, 2002) Originally published 1975.
I do notice the more I lose touch with what I previously saw as my life the more real my spot in the dark winter pew becomes— it is infinite. What we experience as space, the sky that is, the sun, the stars is intimate and rather small by comparison. — Franz Wright, from “Letter,… Continue reading Franz Wright
Who doesn’t have at least one pair of wax wings out in the garage? ― Lucia Perillo, Luck Is Luck: Poems. (Random House March 22, 2005)