The real subject in poetry isn’t the voice. The real subject is silence. It’s like in architecture, where the medium is not really stone or metal, but space. We use materials—brick, glass, whatever— to inflect the immaterial, space. I would say that the real medium of poetry is inner space, the silence of our deepest… Continue reading Li-Young Lee
How wrong to think I was anyone else, like thinking grass stains make you a beautiful view, like getting kissed makes you kissable, like feeling warm makes you coffee, like liking movies makes you a director. How utterly incorrect to think it any other way, a box of crap is treasures, a boy smiling means… Continue reading Daniel Handler
I had always been aware that the Universe is sad; everything in it, animate or inanimate, the wild creatures, the stones, the stars, was enveloped in the great sadness, pervaded by it. Existence had no use. It was without end or reason. The most beautfiul things in it, a flower or a song, as well… Continue reading Hayden Carruth
Dear future generations: Please accept our apologies. We were rolling drunk on petroleum. — Kurt Vonnegut
We become aware of the void as we fill it. ― Antonio Porchia
Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. — Ambrose Bierce
Fate loves the fearless. ― James Russell Lowell
