I don't believe in death, neither in flesh nor in spirit.
God himself took this human flesh upon him.
The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.
I loathe my body. The liver spots, the sagging flesh.
You shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh.
The heart of vegetarians is healed sooner than those of flesh-eaters.
I want paint to work as flesh.
Let the flesh instruct the mind.
The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart
The flesh is at the heart of the world.
Where your flesh is in front, your future is behind.
We've all got flesh. I've just got a little more.
Memory of the knife will be gone when the flesh is gone.
Style is as much under the words as in the words. It is as much the soul as it is the flesh of a work.
Zeena Schreck believes that the right-hand path and the left-hand path have traditionally had the same end goal; it is only the method that is different and the fact that adepts on the lefthand path seek liberation in this life. --About Zeena Schreck...
Of course, Storm-Lord! But why would a god marry a poor farm girl?" asked one of the bound novices, his voice thin and chirping as an insect. "All things must eventually mate," I shrugged, "having been cast into a man's flesh I must do as flesh does....
Workshop Hermeticism, fiction for which the highest praise involves the words 'competent,' 'finished,' 'problem-free,' fiction over which Writing-Program pre- and proscriptions loom with the enclosing force of horizons: no character without Freudian ...
Trite though it (used to) sound, real sexuality is about our struggles to connect with one another, to erect bridges across the chasms that separate selves. Sexuality is, finally, about imagination. Thanks to brave people's recognition of AIDS as a f...
I’m now writing out of rage — and I feel a kind of Nietzschean elation. It’s tonic. I roar with laughter. I want to denounce everybody, tell everybody off. I go to my typewriter as I might go to my machine gun. But I’m safe. I don’t have to...
They had painted a lady leaning her arms on the sill of the window. This lady was waiting for a husband. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. A rose and mauve lady that had not...
Most of us love a non-self, or something extrinsic and apart from our inner life; but a mother's love during the time she is a flesh-and-blood ciborium is not for a non-self but for one that is her very self, a perfect example of charity and love whi...
