No lifetime is long enough for those who wish to create, Raul. Or for those who simply wish to understand themselves and their lives. It is, perhaps, the curse of being human, but also a blessing.
I am merely a poet dying far from home.
His imagination was always more real than the reality of daily life.
Haven’t you ever harbored the secret thought that somewhere Huck and Jim are—at this instant—poling their raft down some river just beyond our reach, so much more real are they than the shoe clerk who...
Father thought that the first stage of human happiness was a ‘fellowship with essence,
All those before us have gone into the darkness without assurance of logic fact or persuasive theory, with only a slender thread of hope or the all too shakable convinction of faith. And if they have...
Data itself... was tolerable. It was the constant nerve-web-expanding pain of context that would kill him.
You met this Moneta ... or whatever her real name is ... in her past but your future ... in a meeting that's still to come
Pain has been with him since birth - the universe's gift to a poet ...
Trust me. I’ve seen it in London and I’ve seen it with shipwreck. Death by scurvy is worse. It would be better if the Thing took us all tonight. And with that we went below to the flame-flickering Dar...
Suddenly a scream froze her in her tracks. It
The continuation of her life was more than another day of breathing, but was the gift of another day of engagement with her beloved across the spectrum of all things.
Said the bald little androgyny.
Nothing smells quite as wonderful as old books.
What, after all, is more real to us than the geography of our childhoods?
We are all eaters of souls.
Sounds like
It was fucking wonderful. It was fucking hell.
If one is to steal, steal from the forgotten masters. The
I nevertheless understood at that second the ancient obsession of the God-fearing for another kind of fear: the thrill of exorcism, the mindless whirl of Dervish possession, and the almost erotic surr...