love is more thicker than forgetmore thinner than recallmore seldom than a wave is wetmore frequent than to fail it is most mad and moonlyand less it shall unbethan all the sea which onlyis deeper than the sea love is less always than to winless never than aliveless bigger than the least beginless littler than… Continue reading E.E. Cummings
23 Emotions people feel, but can’t explain John Koenig, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (Simon & Schuster, November 16, 2021)
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Hinged to forgetfulness like a doorshe slowly closed out of sight,and she was the woman that I loved,but too many times she slept likea mechanical deer in my caresses,and I ached in the metal silenceof her dreams. — Richard Brautigan, “Hinged to forgetfulness like a door,” Rommel Drives on Deep Into Egypt. (Delacorte Pr January… Continue reading Richard Brautigan
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter could be said to remedy anything. — Kurt Vonnegut
As the bruises fade, the lightning aches.Last week, making love, you bit me.Now the blue and dark have goneand yellow bruises grow toward pale daffodils,then paler to become until my bodyis all my own and what that ever got me. — Richard Brautigan, “As the Bruises Fade, the Lightning Aches,” Rommel Drives On Deep Into… Continue reading Richard Brautigan
I have emotionsthat are like newspapers thatread themselves. I go for days at a timetrapped in the want ads. I feel as if I am an adfor the sale of a haunted house: 18 rooms$37,000I’m yoursghosts and all. — Richard Brautigan, “Real Estate,” June 30, June 30. (Delacorte Press; 1st edition August 1978)
I can’t say I was ever lost, but I was bewildered once for three days. — Daniel Boone
Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man’s best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them, in drumming of fingers and… Continue reading C.S. Lewis
The Vale of Soul-Making 