Yet all men are capable of being raised by piety or by passion, into their region. And no man touches these divine natures, without becoming, in some degree, himself divine. Like a new soul, they renew the body. We become physically nimble and lightsome; we tread on air; life is no longer irksome, and we… Continue reading Ralph Waldo Emerson
Every day, every night of our lives, we’re leaving little bits of ourselves, flakes of this and that, behind. Where do they go, these bits and pieces of ourselves? – Raymond Carver, from “Collectors,” Will You Please be Quiet, Please? Stories (Vintage, 1992)
I want to write somethingso simplyabout loveor about painthat evenas you are readingyou feel itand as you readyou keep feeling itand though it be my storyit will be common,though it be singularit will be known to youso that by the endyou will think—no, you will realize—that it was all the whileyourself arranging the words,that it… Continue reading Mary Oliver
Language exists because nothing exists between those who express themselves. All language is therefore a language of prayer. Held in the dark, without sleep. — Lynn Xu, from “Say You Will Die For Me,” Debts and Lessons.( Omnidawn; 1 edition, April 1, 2013)
I look at you and see all the ways / a soul can bruise, and I wish / I could sink my hands into your flesh / and light lanterns along your spine / so you know that there’s nothing / but light / when I see you. — Shinji Moon, from “A Thousand Paper… Continue reading Shinji Moon
The Vale of Soul-Making 