Walk with me now into this very bright night, and revere with me in silence what must be God-given and what is surely God-taken.
Let my memories of you be like water on the moon. A beautiful impossibility - but allowing me to sleep and dream of infinite beginnings rather than Othello endings.
It’s a heck of a responsibility to look after a spirit. So give kids the best of who you are. That’s the most you can ever do.
I can FEEL her next to me. This UNION. Of WARMTH. Of CARING. Of the INDESCRIBABLE. As if there were NO PARTING and NEVER could be.
Money-it can buy your kids anything, but it cannot teach them love, respect, and the true value of living life without things.
Do not give a damn what "they" have to say (and you will know who they are) for you are either very right or very wrong, but at least you are very something.
Older doesn't always mean wiser. It just means that you've had more time to do the same things over and over again- right, wrong, and different.
Part of loving kids is laying down fencelines. They need to know immediately when they've crossed a line; otherwise the lesson doesn't get learned.
You might want more time in your life to attempt the things you like to do, and not just perform the things you have to do.
I gather the last remnants of the evening’s breeze, so cool and lazy within my arms, feeling it curl up like a small and innocent kitten.
I remember once kissing you, your face lit by northern stars. Promising to grow old with you, and now so simply breaking the promise.
Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.
I am one who could have forgotten the plague, listening to Boccaccio's stories; and I am not ashamed of it.
People who prefer to believe the worst of others will breed war and religious persecutions while the world lasts.
Many times one is forced to descend to deep, dark regions, in order to find there the greatest, noblest and freest light.
Grief is not very different from illness: in the impetus of its fire it does not recognise lords, it does not fear colleagues, it does not respect or spare anyone, not even itself." [ (1193)]
Criticism - however valid or intellectually engaging - tends to get in the way of a writer who has anything personal to say. A tightrope walker may require practice, but if he starts a theory of equilibrium he will lose grace (and probably fall off).
After all, I believe that legends and myths are largely made of 'truth', and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode; and long ago certain truths and modes of this kind were discovered and must always reappear.
We often dream about people from whom we receive a letter by the next post. I have ascertained on several occasions that at the moment when the dream occurred the letter was already lying in the post-office of the addressee.
I seem to walk on a transparent surface and see beneath me all the bones and wrecks and tentacles that will eventually claim me: in other words, old age, incapacity, loneliness, death of others & myself...
Morning, noon & bloody night, Seven sodding days a week, I slave at filthy WORK, that might Be done by any book-drunk freak. This goes on until I kick the bucket. FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT
