As day gradually turns to night, Nadia then lifts her naked body from the floor, and like a goddess, she moves across the room with a stride that gives complement to every curve of her figure. She now leans over the coffee table to strike a match tha...
Well, suppose we remain upon earth, after all? Suppose we bravely accept the death of our dreams at the same time as the death of our bodies? This beyond is decidedly uncertain, quite vague and mobile. I do not believe that it exists everywhere; I be...
It is undefinable; and moreover, if it were defined it would lose all its value. God is not all that exists; God is all that does not exist. Therein resides the power & the charm of that mysterious word. God is tradition, God is legend, God is folklo...
Abstractions do us much harm by impelling us to the quest of the absolute in all things. Joy does not exist, but there are joys: and these joys may not be folly felt unless they are detached from neutral or even painful conditions. The idea of contin...
I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, ...
In winter night Massachusetts Street is dismal, the ground's frozen cold, the ruts and pock holes have ice, thin snow slides over the jagged black cracks. The river is frozen to stolidity, waits; hung on a shore with remnant show-off boughs of June--...
Either to die the death or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun, For a...
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the...
Momma was with the pony last night. Lily and me have him in the mornings, and we give him a wash with the shammy cloths and a soapy bucket so he's ready for Jade to look after him the next night. I think Momma must ride him too rough because he's alw...
One encounters in the streets, late at night on the evenings of fetes, the most strange and bizarre passers-by. Do these nights of popular celebration cause ancient and forgotten avatars to stir in the depths of the human soul? This evening, in the m...
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in h...
We don't have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that's what I want in life. What I'm grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I'm scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow after Commencement and leave this...
Phil: [talking to a sleeping Rita] I think you're the kindest, sweetest, prettiest person I've ever met in my life. I've never seen anyone that's nicer to people than you are. The first time I saw you... something happened to me. I never told you but...
[Deleted scene; Harry finds Aunt Petunia standing alone in the empty living room] Petunia Dursley: I have lived in this house for twenty years, and now in a single night, I'm expected to leave. Harry Potter: They'll torture you. If they think for a m...
Ellie Andrews: By the way, what's your name? Peter Warne: What's that? Ellie Andrews: Who are you? Peter Warne: Who me? [smiling] Peter Warne: I'm the whippoorwill that cries in the night. I'm the soft morning breeze that caresses your lovely face. E...
I am a shadow. I walk the wet roads under the dim light of the pale lamps, in the darkest hour of the cold dull nights. I walk past the silent graveyard of the dead memories, towards the city of chaos plagued with gloom. I do not exist, but in the ey...
In the bitter waves of woe, Beaten and tossed about By the sullen winds that blow From the desolate shores of doubt, When the anchors that faith had cast Are dragging in the gale, I am quietly holding fa...
I write to forget the days that broke me into a million nights.
I want my name to mean me.
All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars.
Let me read to you,” said Roger Nowell. “It is a night for reading.
