Fear knocked at the door and faith answered. No one was there. — Anonymous. Found in an English pub after one of the many London bombings by Hitler during World War II.
Cutting Loose Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason, you sing. For no reason, you accept the way of being lost, cutting loose from all else and electing a world where you go where you want to. Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder that a steady center is holding all else. If you listen, that sound… Continue reading William Stafford
I’ll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty! — Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights. (Thomas Cautley Newby December 1847)
How to measure a season against the calendar of your absence? — John Berger, from “Once in the Highlands,” And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos (Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 1982)
There are mountainous, arduous days, up which one takes an infinite time to climb, and downward-sloping days which one can descend at full tilt, singing as one goes. ― Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way. (Vintage; Reissue edition, March 13, 1989) Originally published November 14th 1913.
Taste redness, smell lulling white winds, look at it in the universe: sun. Gaze at stars yellow and glittering till you feel good and have to shut out the blinking. Brainworlds sparkle in your caves. — Egon Schiele, from “sun,” Ich ewiges Kind (I, Eternal Child). Gedichte, Vienna/Munich (2) 1985. p. 24
In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. And every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of heart you’ll never see again.” — Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders. (William Morrow; First Edition edition, September 26, 2006)