The night itself is riddled with her, wide with her, and alive with her.
Gabriela Mistral, from Collected Poems & Prose; “Electra In The Mist,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
(via violentwavesofemotion)
Tag: words
“I think there is pressure on people to turn every negative into a positive, but we should be allowed to say, ‘I went through something really strange and awful and it has altered me forever.’”
— Marian Keyes (via a-witches-brew)
“The truth would be death-dealing and I prefer fairy tales.”
— Anaïs Nin, from “House of Incest,” published c. 1936
(via fatifer)
She is so young and at the same time like a dead person. She knows this.
Marguerite Duras, from Yann Andréa Steiner ( Archipelago Books, 2006)
Imagine it. A radio playing
and everyone here was crazy.
I liked it and danced in a circle.
Music pours over the sense
and in a funny way
music sees more than I.
I mean it remembers better;
remembers the first night here.
It was the strangled cold of November;
even the stars were strapped in the sky
and that moon too bright
forking through the bars to stick me
with a singing in the head.
I have forgotten all the rest.
Anne Sexton, “Music Swims Back to Me” (via m-l-rio)
“Regenerative experiences: Plunge into the sea.
The sun.
An old city.
Silence.”— Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980
“You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.”— Dorianne Laux, Antilamentation (excerpt).
“My heart hardly has a heart now.
All, it has given all.”— Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: Poems; “Meanwhile, The Wave,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
“19 November. Self-pity, because it is cold, because of everything.”
— Franz Kafka, Diaries
(via vesrailles)
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