Love itself is what is left over when being "in love" has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Loving you is kissing the night, exposing the scars, words in flames, for every drop and for every life.
Hold your venom Do you recognise the instinct in me, fellow scorpion?
it isn't that we're alone or not alone whose voice do you want mine? yours?
that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it gets I wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind
I'd love to give you something but what would help?
There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that nig...
Dreams, the veins of the universe.
Indigo sky, because the heart is also a sunset.
It is the taste of cut steps, bloody fingerprints. Of healed books, smiles on fresh tulips. Of longing and sweet fatigue.
El olvido de que la democracia es una deliberación sobre finalidades, sobre las cuales a la ciencia, ni siquiera la economía, no les corresponde dirimir, es una amnesia muy grave pues significa olvidar el fundamento de la democracia.
Crowds exhibit a docile respect for force, And are but slightly impressed by kindness, Which for them is scarcely other than a form of weakness. Their sympathies have never been bestowed upon easy going masters, but the tyrants who vigorously oppress...
God wants us all to strive to grow more like Jesus, to become holy as he is holy, but God has a specific purpose for each person. How could it not be so? Everyone in a village cannot be a baker, because who would then make the candles or shoe the hor...
There's such a big difference between being dead and alive, I told myself, the greatest gift that anyone can give anyone else is life. And the greatest sin a person can do to another is to take away that life. Next to that, all the rules and religion...
They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say 'Shit, it's raining!
The revelation that there was nothing "special" about humanity didn't shock her. Not specifically. She'd always been cynical about that sort of thing. The idea that reality was all too big to even quantify in any meaningful way didn't disturb her muc...
And it was pointless...to think how those years could have been put to better use, for he could hardly have put them to worse. There was no recovering them now. You could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and for the damage done therein. For the ...
I am fifty years old and I have never known what it is to love. I can write those words, know them to be true, but feel only the regret that a tone-deaf man must feel because he can't appreicate music, a regret less keen because it is for something n...
With each reunion (we) had to learn each other all over again. There was always that nervous moment at the airport when I would stand there waiting for him to arrive, wondering, Will I still know him? Will he still know me?
We've lost a lot of years, but you can't lose love. Not real love. It stays locked inside you, ready for whenever you are strong enough to find it again.
The girls said she was too cynical about love, but how could you not be? On the surface, relations between men and women were all soft kisses and white gowns and hand-holding. But underneath they were a scary, complicated, ugly mess, just waiting to ...
