The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice. ― Virginia Woolf, Orlando. (Penguin Classic; Abridged edition, October 3, 2000) Originally published October 11th 1928.
The glow and beauty of the stars are nothing near the splendid moon when in her roundness she burns silver about the world. — Sappho, “133, FULL MOON,” The Classical Greek Reader. Trans. Willis Barnstone. (Oxford University Press; 1 edition, August 13, 1998)
The body can endure compromise and the mind can be seduced by it. Only the heart protests. The heart. Carbon-based primitive in a silicon world. ― Jeanette Winterson, The Powerbook. (Vintage Books May 1, 2001) Originally published 2000.
Do not remember me as disaster nor as the keeper of secrets I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars watching you move slowly out of my bed saying we cannot waste time only ourselves. — Audre Lorde, from “Movement Song,” The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde (W. W. Norton and Company Inc. 1997)
You told me you like my mouth. You want to kiss me. My mouth is a wound and you want to kiss me. But you’re like that: You want to go leaping over cliffs– you want to go drinking poison and then write pretty poems about it– and all I want to do is fuck… Continue reading Daphne Gottlieb
… but you have forgotten me… — Sappho, “Fragment VIII,” Selected Poems and Fragments. (2005) Translated by A. S. Kline
I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don’t have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow… Continue reading Jeanette Winterson