I feel I understand Existence, or at least a minute part Of my existence, only through my art, In terms of combinational delight; And if my private universe scans right, So does the verse of galaxies divine Which I suspect is an iambic line. —Vladimir Nabokov, from “Canto Four,” Pale Fire: A Poem in Four… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies — I exist. I’m tormented on the rack — but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar — I exist! I see the sun, and if… Continue reading Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Who will winter my immortality with me? Who will thaw with me? Come what may, I shall never trade the earthly love for the subterranean. I still have time to turn into flowers, clay, white-eyed memory … But while we are mortal, my love, to you nothing will be denied. — Vera Pavlova, “89″ If… Continue reading Vera Pavlova
After love, no one is what they were before. —Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless. (Tor Books; First Edition edition March 29, 2011)
Closure is a greasy little word which, moreover, describes a nonexistent condition. The truth, Venus, is that nobody gets over anything. — Martin Amis, House of Meetings. (Knopf; First Edition edition, January 16, 2007)
Eternalise me just a bit: take some snow and sculpt me in it, with your warm and bare palm polish me until I shine . . . — Vera Pavlova, “Eternalise me just a bit.” Translation Steven Seymour. Poetry International Web.
I’ve loved everything, I knew how to love everything except the other, the other who was alive. The other has always bothered me; it was a wall against which I broke, I didn’t know how to live with the living. Hence my feeling that I was not a woman but a soul.[…] You simply have… Continue reading Marina Tsvetaeva