The glow and beauty of the stars are nothing near the splendid moon when in her roundness she burns silver about the world. — Sappho, “133, FULL MOON,” The Classical Greek Reader. Trans. Willis Barnstone. (Oxford University Press; 1 edition, August 13, 1998)
It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you. — Jean-Paul Sartre, The Flies. (1943)
If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly —William Shakespeare, Macbeth Act IV Scene vii
I went into the desert to forget about you. But the sand was the color of your hair. The desert sky was the color of your eyes. There was nowhere I could go that wouldn’t be you. — Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2003)
With shadows I draw worlds, I scatter worlds with shadows. I hear the light beat on the other side. — Octavio Paz, from “This Side,” The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz: 1957-1987, trans. Eliot Weinberger (New Directions, 1987)
Time, on its own, heals nothing. ― Mary Rakow, The Memory Room . (Counterpoint, August 31, 2004) Originally published April 1st 2002.
Peter Quince at the Clavier I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the selfsame sounds On my spirit make a music, too. Music is feeling, then, not sound; And thus it is that what I feel, Here in this room, desiring you, Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk, Is music. It… Continue reading Wallace Stevens