Robert Browning
Love is the energy of life. — Robert Browning
Love is the energy of life. — Robert Browning
He whose face gives no light shall never become a star. — William Blake
Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.― George Orwell, 1984 (Plume, January 1, 2014) Originally published June 8th 1949.
May out of the clouds of chanceA calm wind blow, a bird be sighted and steerStraight for your bough, and its pursuing loveBreak in the air, a scarlet target afloatFor the strength of your striking arrow; — Philip Larkin, from section III of “Now,” The Complete Poems, ed. Archie Burnett (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012)
Every moment you steal from the present is a moment you have lost forever. There’s only now. — Jeanette Winterson, The Passion (Grove Press, August 7, 1997)
It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. — Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles (September 1, 1901)
All human love is a dramatic enactment of the wild, reckless, unquenchable, undrainable love that powers the universe. If death is everywhere and inescapable, then so is love, if we but knew it. We can begin to know it through each other. The tamer my love, the farther away it is from love. In fierceness,… Continue reading Jeanette Winterson
What is meant by ‘reality’? It would seem to be something very erratic, very undependable—now to be found in a dusty road, now in a scrap of newspaper in the street, now a daffodil in the sun. It lights up a group in a room and stamps some casual saying. It overwhelms one walking home… Continue reading Virginia Woolf
Truly, though our element is time,We are not suited to the long perspectivesOpen at each instant of our lives.They link us to our losses: worse,They show us what we have as it once was,Blindingly undiminished, just as thoughBy acting differently, we could have kept it so. — Philip Larkin, from “Reference Back,” The Complete Poems… Continue reading Philip Larkin
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. ― George Orwell, 1984 ( Plume, January 1, 2014) Originally published June 8th 1949.