Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable haemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.
But to what end? Some... future revolution? It can never succeed.As Seneca warned Nero: No matter how many of us you kill, you will never kill your successor.
But this isn't a ghost story: the ghost is in the background, where she has to be. If she was in the foreground she'd be a person.
Aroma of fresh bread led me to a bakery where a deformed woman with no nose sold me a dozen crescent-moon pastries. Only wanted one, but thought she had enough problems.
If you bare your arse to a vengeful unicorn, the number of possible outcomes dwindles to one.
You only value something if you know it'll end.
The sacred is a fine hiding place for the profane.
Every relationship has its own language. It takes a long time to evolve and read one another. Just as it's true for people, it's also true on a national or cultural level.
…and there, in the background, the sky’s sediment had sunk to a place where all the woe of the words ‘I am’ dissolved into blue peace. He said it. ‘The ocean.
Wars are never cured, they just go into remission for a few years.
There is no God but the one we dream up.
Sometimes language can't even read the music of meaning.
Right, my phone. When these things first appeared, they were so cool. Only when it was too late did people realize they are as cool as electronic tags on remand prisoners.
Poems are lenses, mirrors, and X-ray machines.
One writes music because winter is eternal and because, if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards will be at one's throat all the sooner.
Oh, bein' young ain't easy 'cos ev'rythin' you're puzzlin'n'anxin' you're puzzlin'n'anxin' it for the first time.
Odd how the wrong stories pop into one's head at my age.
Love is a big knot of whys.
Like Solzhenitsyn, I shall return, one bright dusk.
Life’s more science-fictiony by the day.