I wrote on the windThe name of my love.I wrote it on the water.I did not knowThat the wind rushes by without listening,That names dissolve in the water. — Nizar Qabbani, from “The Book of Love,” On Entering the Sea: The Erotic and Other Poetry of Nizar Qabbani (Interlink Pub Group, 2013)
I love your silences, they are like mine. You are the only being before whom I am not distressed by my own silences. You have a vehement silence, one feels it is charged with essences, it is a strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
You are the poet, you walk inside my dreams… — Anaïs Nin, Under a Glass Bell (Swallow Press, 1944)
Kisses dream of lips like yours. — Michael Faudet, Dirty Pretty Things. (Michael Faudet; First Edition edition, November 18, 2014)
I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles. — Anaïs Nin, House of Incest. (Swallow Press; 1 edition, January 1, 1958) Originally published 1915.
ix nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more… Continue reading E.E. Cummings
I desire her and I hate her. I would like to take her in my arms and embrace her till she smothered, till she was crushed and I could drink death from her gushing veins. — Octave Mirbeau, The Torture Garden. (Olympia Press; Revised Edition edition, August 28, 2005) Originally published 1899.
Darkness. Silence that weeps in my heart. Ashes on my hearth and the cry of a lonely bird at the window. The trees that shiver in the wind. Darkness. And youth passing by- … To listen and hear no footstep…. — Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from “The Book of Love,” Poetica Erotica . (New York : M.… Continue reading Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff
No lover, if he be of good faith, and sincere, will deny he would prefer to see his mistress dead than unfaithful. — Donatien Alphonse François / Marquis de Sade
I simply love that tinge of Botticellian pink, that raw rose about the lips, those wet, matted eyelashes… — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)