“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, “what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter–as I did!”― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations. (Chapman & Hall; Serialized 1860-1; book… Continue reading Charles Dickens
In my heart a little flame like the dreams you have while still half-asleep rousing yourself. So restless am I that I feel like racing to the end of the desert without end, up to the zenith of the highest mountain from where it seems there is a voice calling out to me. — Sohrab Sepehri,… Continue reading Sohrab Sepehri
Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations. — Alan Watts
Matthew XV:30 The first bridge, Constitution Station. At my feet the shunting trains trace iron labyrinths. Steam hisses up and up into the night, which becomes at a stroke the night of the Last Judgment. From the unseen horizon and from the very center of my being, an infinite voice pronounced these things— things, not… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges
The moon asked me to meet her in a field tonight. I think she has amorous ideas. — Ḥāfiẓ
We – are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar; Such difference without discord, as can make Those sweetest sounds, in which all spirits shake As trembling leaves in a continuous air? — Percy Bysshe Shelley, from “Epipsychidion.” (1821)
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence. – Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics June 11, 2013) Originally published January 14th 1963.