When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head. — John Keats, from “To Hope” (February,… Continue reading John Keats
It’s ridiculous to live 100 years and only be able to remember 30 million bytes. You know, less than a compact disc. The human condition is really becoming more obsolete every minute. —Marvin Minsky
I feel insignificant, lost, but exultant. — Virginia Woolf, The Waves. (Harvest Books 1978) Originally published October 8th 1931.
Eternalise me just a bit: take some snow and sculpt me in it, with your warm and bare palm polish me until I shine . . . — Vera Pavlova, Письма в соседнюю комнату: 1001 признание в люk. Translation: Steven Seymour. (AST Publishing House, Moscow, 2006)
Blessed is the Field In the late heat the snakeroot and goldenrod run high, White and gold, the steaming flowers, green and gold, The acid-bitten leaves….It is good to say first An invocation. Though the words do not always Seem to work. Still, one must try. Bow your head. Cross your arms. Say: Blessed is… Continue reading Brigit Pegeen Kelly
She wanted to find a way to love them in death, because she forgot how to love them in life. — Sherman Alexie, Reservation Blues. (Grove Press; Reprint edition February 7, 2005) Originally published January 1st 1995.
I am thinking of love. Which means in my tongue that I am praying for it to be saved from never knowing me. — Paul Guest, from “A Long Time I’ve Wanted to Say Something,” My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge: Poems (Ecco, 2008)
A great love carries within it a mourning for love. — Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions: Volume II [Yaël; Elya; Aely; El, Or the Last Book] Wesleyan; Revised ed. edition (September 15, 1991) Originally published January 1st 1967.
There is such loneliness in that gold. The moon of the nights is not the moon Who the first Adam saw. The long centuries Of human vigil have filled her With ancient lament. Look at her. She is your mirror. — Jorge Luis Borges, “The Moon,” Jorge Luis Borges: Selected Poems, edited by Alexander Coleman… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges
Keep me up till five because all your stars are out, and for no other reason. — J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction. (Back Bay Books January 30, 2001) Originally published 1955,