I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my idea of them. — Anaïs Nin
kiss me a little: the air darkens and is alive – o live with me in the fewness of these colours; — E.E. Cummings, from “XLVIII,” ViVa. (Liveright; 2nd ed. Edition, October 17, 1997) Originally published 1931.
If we had to say what writing is, we would define it essentially as an act of courage. — Cynthia Ozick
I remember, in Ohio, fields of wastes of nature, lost pasture, fallow clearings, buckwheat and fireweed and broken sparrow nests, especially in the summer, in the fading hilltop sun, when you could lose yourself by simply lying down. Who will find you, who will call you home now, at dusk, with the dry tips of… Continue reading Stanley Plumly
Love easily confuses us because it is always in flux between illusion and substance, between memory and wish, between contentment and need. — Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. (No Exit Press, October 11, 2001) Originally published April 1976.
The stars appear one by one like small songs, like small terrors rattling bright in their cages. — Laura Lush, from “Stars,” Blues & True Concussions: Six New Toronto Poets (Anansi, 1997)
My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them. — Jack Kerouac