Peter Quince at the Clavier I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the selfsame sounds On my spirit make a music, too. Music is feeling, then, not sound; And thus it is that what I feel, Here in this room, desiring you, Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk, Is music. It… Continue reading Wallace Stevens
She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxicabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. — Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway. (Harcourt, October 28, 2002) Originally published May 14th 1925.
When does night fold its arms over our hearts to cherish them? — Denise Levertov, fron “That Passeth All Understanding,” Oblique Prayers: Poetry. (New Directions, New York, 1984)
I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then. ― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass. (Watermill Pr, November 1992) Originally published November 26, 1865 and 1871, respectfully.
Streets that I chanced upon, you had just walked down them and vanished. And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening… — Rainer Maria Rilke, from “You… Continue reading Rainer Maria Rilke
I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything. ― Anne Sexton in a letter to W.D. Snodgrass (November 28, 1958), Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters. (Mariner… Continue reading Anne Sexton
Love’s merciless, the way it travels in and keeps emitting light. — Kim Addonizio, from “Stolen Moments,” What Is This Thing Called Love: Poems. (W. W. Norton & Company; unknown edition, August 17, 2005)