“Both were women in love with men who did not exist, and they shared the resigned sadness that comes from too much dreaming and longing. They were used to imagining that when they were alone they were observed in their graces and beauties by a man who stood somewhere, perhaps on a platform in the air, invisibly. And when they did whatever they did, sewing, or playing the piano, or fixing their hair in front of a mirror, they did so with tender reference to his invisible presence, which they loved almost as if it were real.”— Mark Helprin, Winter’s Tale (via albumontem)
“There are some people, they are like countries. When you are with them, that is your country and you speak its language. And then it does not matter where you are together, you are at home.”—Christopher Isherwood, The World In The Evening (via albumontem)
“There are different wells within your heart.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far too deep for that.
In one well
You have just a few precious cups of water,
That “love” is literally something of yourself,
It can grow as slow as a diamond
If it is lost.
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
There are different wells within us.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far, far too deep
— Hafiz (Hafiz’ Poems)
“You cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.”
— Clive Barker
“Animals are sad as a rule,” she went on. “And when a man is sad - I don’t mean because he has a toothache or has lost some money, but because he sees, for once in a way, how it all is with life and everything, and sad in earnest - he always looks a little like an animal. He then looks not only sad, but more right and more beautiful than usual. That’s how it is, and that’s how you looked, Steppenwolf, when I saw you for the first time.”
- Steppenwolf, Hermann Hesse
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Self Pity, D.H. Lawrence (via goodpoetry)
‘… we have to stumble through so much dirt and humbug before we reach home. And we have no one to guide us. Our only guide is our home-sickness.’
- Steppenwolf, Herman Hesse
“It’s always surprising, this sense
of relief. When you kiss me
unexpectedly, I’m reminded of
the time I left a shoe-box containing
ten or eleven thousand dollars on a
coffee table in a hotel lobby in Northern Italy.
I was between floors in the elevator,
staring at my reflection knowing something
was missing when I remembered what was,
and pushed every button and rolled through
the doors, sprinted hallways in search of the
universal symbol for stairs, barreled
down six flights, and found it
waiting there, untouched,
and haloed by the light
“The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown eighty feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener
carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Every day as he
whittles back the branches
the gardener croons,
It is your nature
to be small and cozy,
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
the bound feet,
the crippled brain,
the hair in curlers,
the hands you
love to touch.”
thursday = irrational responses to everything.
spilling water from my back,
you call and i come.
that exhausted walk to reach you
breathless and no i didn’t run
to see you, i’ve been smoking
too much, same thing.
another awkward hug in the car
as my face smashes your cheek
that i can feel it leaving now
is the saddest, a beautiful eruption
you could have picked it off the tree
but you weren’t hungry.
feeling it dying away all day
much worse than the straining
against the leash, another gorgeous
thing that should not have happened,
— Michelle Tea, Oh God
I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.—Lolita, Nabokov