My heart is a cathedral. Widows, ghosts and lovers sit and sing in the dark, arched marrow of me. ― Segovia Amil, Ophelia Wears Black. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition, December 11, 2015) Advertisements
“We say release, and radiance, and roses,” We say release, and radiance, and roses, and echo upon everything that’s known; and yet, behind the world our names enclose is the nameless: our true archetype and home. The sun seems male, and earth is like a woman, the field is humble, and the forest proud; but… Continue reading Rainer Maria Rilke
It will illustrate one phase of humanity anyhow; how few of life’s days and hours (and they not by relative value or proportion, but by chance) are ever noted. Probably another point too, how we give long preparations for some object, planning and delving and fashioning, and then, when the actual hour for doing arrives,… Continue reading Walt Whitman
Much of poetry is an anguished waiting. — Theodore Roethke, On Poetry and Craft: Selected Prose. (Copper Canyon Press; First Edition (US) First Printing edition April 1, 2001) Originally published June 1st 1965.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed,… Continue reading Charles Dickens
Evenings I sit in the hostel kitchen, writing, with a pot of strong tea and a candle for comfort. The immense quiet is broken only by those snaps and creaks that inhabit old houses. I am partial to old things: old peeling doors, rusty gates, overgrown paths. Old things know how to relinquish the past;… Continue reading Janice D. Soderling
(She catches sight of herself in the mirror. Go in fear of hyperbole) —Ann Lauterbach, The Night Sky. (Viking Adult; First Edition edition May 5, 2005)