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Paulo Coelho

She imagined herself both queen and slave, dominatrix and victim. In her imagination she was making love with men of all skin colors–white, black, yellow–with homosexuals and beggars. She was anyone’s, and anyone could do anything to her. She had one, two, three orgasms, one after another. She imagined everything she had never imagined before,… Continue reading Paulo Coelho

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Contemporary · Poetry · The New York School

Frank O’Hara

It is almost three I sit at the marble top sorting poems, miserable the little lamp glows feebly I don’t glow at all I have another cognac and stare at two little paintings of Jean-Paul’s, so great I must do so much or did they just happen the breeze is cool barely a sound filters… Continue reading Frank O’Hara

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American Literature · Anthology · Asian Culture · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Contemporary · Essay · Excerpt · Non-fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Religion · Spiritual · Theology

Li-Young Lee

The real subject in poetry isn’t the voice. The real subject is silence. It’s like in architecture, where the medium is not really stone or metal, but space. We use materials—brick, glass, whatever— to inflect the immaterial, space. I would say that the real medium of poetry is inner space, the silence of our deepest… Continue reading Li-Young Lee

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Romance · Young Adult

Daniel Handler

How wrong to think I was anyone else, like thinking grass stains make you a beautiful view, like getting kissed makes you kissable, like feeling warm makes you coffee, like liking movies makes you a director. How utterly incorrect to think it any other way, a box of crap is treasures, a boy smiling means… Continue reading Daniel Handler

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American Culture · American Literature · Americana · Cataloguing · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Free Association · Free Verse · Interior Monologue · Lists · Poetry · Romanticism · Stream of Consciousness · Traditionalism

Walt Whitman

Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting: Here I shade and hide my thoughts—I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems. — Walt Whitman, “Here the Frailest Leaves of Me,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855

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