Societies never know it, but the war of an artist with his society is a lover’s war, and he does, at his best, what lovers do, which is to reveal the beloved to himself and, with that revelation, to make freedom real. — James Baldwin, “The Creative Process,” Creative America. (The National Cultural Center /… Continue reading James Baldwin
Is she more apparent because she is not anymore forever? Is her whiteness more white because she was the color of pale honey? A smokestack making the sky more visible. A dead woman filling the whole world. Michiko said, “The roses you gave me kept me awake with the sound of their petals falling. —… Continue reading Jack Gilbert
…as it seldom happens that any felicity comes so pure as not to be tempered and allayed by some mixture of sorrow. — Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote. Francisco de Robles 1605 (Part One), 1615 (Part Two). Published in English 1612 (Part One), 1620 (Part Two).
It is such a secret place, the land of tears. — Antoine De Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince. Published by Reynal & Hitchcock (U.S.), Gallimard (France),1943 (U.S.: English & French), (France, French, 1945).
…all of us are instruments recording the heart, playing its jealous and beautiful sounds, the mirror breaking and shattering past our tongues when the fire burns our skins. — Diane Wakoski, from “The Mirror of a Day Chiming Marigold,” Dancing on the Grave of a Son of a Bitch. (Black Sparrow Press,U.S.; New edition edition… Continue reading Diane Wakoski
All I ever wanted was to climb some ladder into her heart. — Richard Jackson, from “Inspiration,” Half Lives: Petrarchan Poems (Autumn House Press, 2004)
Do you understand, beloved? It was not your hesitation, but the taste on your tongue when you stumbled & the stars crashed around you. — Diane di Prima, Loba. (Penguin Books; Subsequent edition (August 1, 1998)