They tell me I am going to die. Why don’t I seem to care? My cup is full. Let it spill — Robert Friend, “My Cup,” Dancing with a Tiger: Poems 1941-1998. (Menard Press August 5, 2008) Originally published September 15th 2003.
Faith is not a question of the existence or non-existence of God. It is believing that love without reward is valuable. — Emmanuel Levinas
Waiting is erotic. — Irène Némirovsky, Suite Française. (Vintage; Reprint edition April 10, 2007)
Only the edges go on like this, long into dusk, the soul drains us in seconds. And the nothing that’s left, and the no more hope, and what I wouldn’t kill off or trade away, fuck over, dismiss, make a joke of, this failure of solitude, my own dark standing alone in the dark hand… Continue reading Ralph Angel
I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live. ― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. (Houghton Mifflin 1 April 2005 1st edition)
I am always sad, I think. Perhaps this signifies that I am not sad at all, because sadness is something lower than your normal disposition, and I am always the same thing. Perhaps I am the only person in the world, then, who never becomes sad. Perhaps I am lucky. — Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything… Continue reading Jonathan Safran Foer
In the evening my griefs come to me one by one. They tell me what I had hoped to forget. They perch on my shoulders like mourning doves. They are the color of light fading. —Linda Pastan, from “Old Woman,” The Five Stages of Grief ( W. W. Norton & Company, 1978)