Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them. ― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind. (Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition April 1, 1999) Originally published 1936. Advertisements
I already knew this immense tenderness, which is only the last degree of sorrow… I knew then, already, that the intimacy of things is death. — Georges Bataille, L’Impossible, translation by Robert Hurley. (Editions de Minuit, April 1, 1962) Originally published 1947.
Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what… Continue reading Joan Didion
[I]n all my poems I undress my heart. — Julia de Burgos, from “To Julia de Burgos,” Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos (Curbstone Books, 1997)
You are the second one amidst your loneliness, the quiet center of each monologue: and any circle drawn round you exceeds the tent of time. — Rainer Maria Rilke, from “The Book of the Monkish Life,” First Book; The Book of Hours: Prayers to a Lowly God, trans. Annemarie S. Kidder (Northwestern University Press, 2001)
Some summers refuse to end. — Ray Bradbury, Farewell Summer (William Morrow, 2006) (via luthienne)
I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks. ― Pablo Neruda, from “Verb,” Las Manos del Dia. Published by Editorial Losada (1970)