For the Sake of a Single Poem Ah, poems amount to so little when you write them too early in your life. You ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness for a whole lifetime, and a long one if possible, and then, at the very end, you might perhaps be able to write ten… Continue reading Rainer Maria Rilke
Put briefly, we remember too much, and too little of it lasts. — Daniel Cross Turner, from “Lost Highways and Ethereal Landscapes: Cartographic Memory in the Poetry of Charles Wright,” Southern Crossings: Poetry, Memory, and the Transcultural South (University of Tennessee Press, 2012)
Despair is the state in which anxiety and restlessness are immanent to existence. Nobody in despair suffers from “problems”, but from his own inner torment and fire. It’s a pity that nothing can be solved in this world. Yet there never was and there never will be anyone who would commit suicide for this reason.… Continue reading Emil M. Cioran
I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame… Continue reading Emil M. Cioran
The deepest subjective experiences are also the most universal, because through them one reaches the universal source of life. ―Emil M. Cioran, On the Heights of Despair. (University Of Chicago Press,1996) Originally published 1933.
The world is full of places. Why is it that I am here? — Wendell Berry, The Long-Legged House: Essays (Counterpoint, 2012)
If the imagination intoxicates the poet, it is not inactive in other men [or women]. The metamorphosis excites in the beholder an emotion of joy. The use of symbols has a certain power of emancipation and exhilaration for all men. We seem to be touched by a wand which makes us dance and run about… Continue reading Ralph Waldo Emerson