My body sings only one song; the wind turns gray in my arms. Flowers bloom. Flowers die. More is less. I long for more. — Mark Strand, from “The One Song,” Collected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2014)
I’m alternatingly brilliant and witless-and sleepless: bed is just a swamp to roll in. ― Marilyn Hacker, Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reprint edition, March 17, 1995) Originally published 1986.
I feel I understand Existence, or at least a minute part Of my existence, only through my art, In terms of combinational delight; And if my private universe scans right, So does the verse of galaxies divine Which I suspect is an iambic line. —Vladimir Nabokov, from “Canto Four,” Pale Fire: A Poem in Four… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
I confess that I am often lost in all the dimensions of time, that the past sometimes feels nearer than the present and I often fear the future has already happened. – Deborah Levy, Hot Milk. (Bloomsbury USA; First Edition edition, July 12, 2016)