When the soul suffers too much, it develops a taste for misfortune. — Albert Camus
and then there are some who believe that old relationships can be revived and made new again. but please if you feel that way don’t phone don’t write don’t arrive. — Charles Bukowski, from “Alone Again,” Come On In!: New Poems. (Ecco (March 27, 2007) Originally published January 3rd 2006.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow, and I am in them, and this is eternity. — Edvard Munch
Words or wax, no end to our self-shaping, our forlorn awareness at the end of which is only more awareness. Was ever truth so malleable? Arid, inadhesive bits of matter. What might heal you? Love. What make you whole? Love. My love. — C. K. Williams, from “Lost Wax,” Repair (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1999)
Love’s gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. — Rabindranath Tagore
They’ve bought me a shell. It sings inside a sea on a map. My heart fills up with water with a little fish shadow & silver. They’ve brought me a shell. — Federico García Lorca, “Caracola,” Lorca/Blackburn: Poems of Federico Garcia Lorca chosen and translated by Paul Blackburn. Small Pr Distribution, 1979
I have been loving you a little more every minute since this morning. — Victor Hugo, Les Misérables. (A. Lacroix, Verboeckhoven & Cie. 1862)