January 2012
110 posts
3 tags
At one magical instant in your early childhood, the page of a book—that...
– Alberto Manguel
2 tags
Poetry is my understanding with the world, my intimacy with things, my...
– Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen (via awritersruminations)
2 tags
But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger...
– Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s (via decrepito)
2 tags
You see it was silly for me to expect anything when you said not to expect...
– Steven Karl, Dear Non-committal Lover, (via grammatolatry)
December 2011
88 posts
2 tags
I want to travel on a train that smells like snowflakes. I want to sip in cafes...
– Tom Robbins (via fleurishes)
2 tags
In this love, you are like a knife, with which I explore myself.
– Franz Kafka, from Letters to Milena (via depressionparty)
2 tags
Words… They’re innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that,...
– Tom Stoppard (via pavorst)
3 tags
The scary thing about somebody
jumping from the top of a tall building
is not...
– The scary thing about those who jump, Emma McGordon (via clavicola)
3 tags
But sooner or later, as though by magic, joy and calm would suddenly desert him;...
– Narcissus and Goldmund, Herman Hesse
3 tags
Narcissus knew only too well what a charming golden bird had flown to him. This...
– Narcissus and Goldmund, Herman Hesse
2 tags
Literature is not exhaustible, for the sufficient and simple reason that no...
– Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths (via bookoasis)
2 tags
(Elegy for his Hands)
It was late, I was drunk, you were warm
to my hand, I...
– Robyn Art, Notes About His Hands, Part 4 (via grammatolatry)
2 tags
I
Today I dissected a squid,
the late acacia tossing its pollen
across the...
– “Love at Thirty-Two Degrees” by Katherine Larson (via clavicola)
1 tag
For the sake of a single poem, you must see many cities, many people and Things,...
– from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge (1910) - Rainer Maria Rilke (via ruefle)
1 tag
Once, in my father’s bookshop, I heard a regular customer say that few things...
– Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (via decrepito)
5 tags
Boys are just boys after all, but sometimes girls really seem to be the turn of...
– Zadie Smith
2 tags
I tried to make myself a soul out of yours, tried to climb without weakening the...
– Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions: Volume I, trans. Rosmarie Waldrop (via proustitute)
2 tags
… we are only fiction. We are only the idea we have of ourselves.
– Edmond Jabès, “Cut of Time” (via talkativolive)
2 tags
If the sea had no waves to uproot it
and give it back to the sea, if the sea...
– Edmond Jabès, from The Book of Questions (via)
1 tag
I wonder how many people I’ve looked at all my life and never seen.
– John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent (via decrepito)
2 tags
bookaddicted:
We might order an ice cream with wings.
We might practice our French.
We might tear the ends of a baguette.
We might drink Veuve Cliquot in our black dresses and try to guess the nationalities of all the people around us.
We might even allow the mistral to make us crazy.
— Carole Maso, The American Woman in the Chinese Hat
1 tag
It must be immense, this silence, in which sounds and movements have room, and...
– Rainer Maria Rilke (via atomos)
2 tags
(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a...
– Sylvia Plath (via loveyourchaos) (via fleurishes, growing-orbits)
2 tags
Where are the lives we lived
when we were young?
Our kisses, the heat of our...
– VI. Then by Eavan Boland (via laboratoiredesreves)
1 tag
I imagined the lies the valedictorian was telling them right now. About the...
– Janet Fitch (via auresco)
When I watched you dancing that day, I saw something else. I saw a new world...
– – Never Let Me Go (via wunderkiste)
2 tags
I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day,
on the surface of intention,...
– Luke Davies, from “[In the yellow time of pollen]” (via proustitute)
2 tags
Never use the word suddenly just to create tension.
-Writing Fiction
...
– Tension by Billy Collins (via noeud-papillon-)
2 tags
All the trees all their branches all of their leaves
The grass at the foot of...
– As Far As My Eye Can See In My Body’s Senses by Paul Éluard (via noeud-papillon-)
2 tags
A Sad Child by Margaret Atwood →
noeud-papillon-:
You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll you need to sleep. Well, all children are sad but some get over it. Count your blessings. Better than that, buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet. Take up dancing to forget. Forget what? Your sadness, your shadow, whatever it was that was...
1 tag
Utopias are under every rock, on every leaf, behind every tree, in the clouds...
– Nils Udo (via weissewiese)
1 tag
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The...
– Jack Kerouac (via s0nata)
4 tags
Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.
– Sigmund Freud
4 tags
Once when the lawn was a golden green
and the marbled moonlit trees rose like...
– My Name, Mark Strand
2 tags
clavicola:
“And, perhaps, the body really is a gift, this small beating in my ribs a reasoned rhythm. Once, a woman at the museum reminded me of a harp. Her supple spine defined a frame. She was so tense, I could see wires as if at any moment she would become music or break. The way moonlight broke itself in our window when as children we sisters cut each other’s hair. Mary and I found a moth...
2 tags
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is...
– Siren Song, Margaret Atwood
2 tags
There is no saluation. The
harvesters with gunny sacks
bend picking up...
– Cups: 8 by Robin Blaser
2 tags
Katie Donovan, Yearn On
ahuntersheart:
I want you to feel the unbearable lack of me. I want your skin to yearn for the soft lure of mine; I want those hints of red on your canvas to deepen in passion for me: carmine, burgundy. I want you to keep stubbing your toe on the memory of me; I want your head to be dizzy and your stomach in a spin; I want you to hear my voice in your ear, to touch your face ...
2 tags
Instructions to the Double, Tess Gallagher
ahuntersheart:
So now it’s your turn, little mother of silences, little father of half-belief. Take up this face, these daily rounds with a cabbage under each arm convincing the multitudes that a well-made-anything could save them. Take up most of all, these hands trained to an ornate piano in a house on the other side of the country.
I’m staying here without music, without ...
3 tags
Whatever you get paid attention for is never what you think is most important...
– David Foster Wallace
4 tags
What do we like best
about ourselves?
Our inability
to be content.
We...
– from Transactions, Rae Armantrout
4 tags
there were so many books. she had to separate them to avoid being overwhelmed by...
– reading, by Joanne Burns
2 tags
The poet wants to rejoin the poem
even after behaving terribly and can’t. You...
– The Poem is Not the Anatomical Heart, Kyle McCord (via grammatolatry)
2 tags
3 tags
How easily our loved ones
leave us, speeding into sunsets,
maiming us with...
– Larissa Szporluk, from “Sea Lettuce” (via ahuntersheart)
1 tag
She anchored
Her hips
In his eyes
And brought him
To port.
– Malcolm de Chazal, Sens-Plastique (via frenchtwist)
1 tag
The pen will never be able to move fast enough to write down every word...
– Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude (via pavorst)
2 tags
I am a cage, in search of bird.
– Franz Kafka (via swordandcrown)
4 tags
This little theater of mine has as many doors into as many boxes as you please,...
– Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf