The first blush of love, when the self has lost its mooring, and, half-drowning, succumbs to a fearful tide. ― Eleanor Catton, The Luminaries, (Little, Brown and Company; First Edition edition, October 15, 2013) Advertisements
To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope. — Anne Carson, Eros: The Bittersweet. (Dalkey Archive Press; 1st Dalkey Archive ed edition, March 1, 1998) Originally published 1986.
I wouldn’t want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I’d like it if he could be wicked and wouldn’t. ― L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island. (Bantam Books, December 1, 1983) Originally published 1915.
This year we are making nothing but elegies. Do what you are good at, our parents always told us, make what you know. This is what we are making, these songs for the dying. You have to celebrate something. —Margaret Atwood, from “Four Small Elegies,” Two-Headed Poems. (Simon & Schuster March 9, 1981)
Now I need your hidden love, I’m cold as a new razor blade. You left when I told you I was curious… I never said that I was brave. — Leonard Cohen, from “So Long Marianne,” Songs of Leonard Cohen. (Columbia 1967)
In my mouth is an enduring summer solstice where dawn follows dusk in such rapid succession I barely taste the night. — Dominik Parisien, from “I Am Learning to Forget,” Strange Horizons: 2013 Fund Drive Special. Published between 6 September and 4 October 2013.
All day I have written words: My subject has been that. Words. And I am wrong. And the words. I burn Three pages of them. Words. And the moon, moonlight, that too I burn. —A poem remains. But in the words, in the words In the fire that is now words. I eat the… Continue reading Robert Sward