As for myself, I am splintered by great waves. I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered. I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.
Love, they say, enslaves and passion is a demon and many have been lost for love. I know this is true, but I know too that without love we grope the tunnels of our lives and never see the sun. When I...
Știa ea prea bine că scriitorii sunt niște boemi obsedați de sex care încălcau regulile și nu se duceau la muncă.
You'll get over it...' It's the cliches that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, the...
You can’t be another person’s honesty, child, but you can be your own.
What's left? Romance. Love's counterfeit free of charge to all. Fall into my arms and the world with its sorrows will shrink up into a tinsel ball. This is the favorite antidote to the cold robot life...
The grey city and its lost hearts force its way between myself and my healing.
She had made him possible. In that sense she was his god. Like God, she was neglected.
Pillars hold things up, and salt keeps things clean, but it's a poor exchange for losing your self. People do go back, but they don't survive, because two realities are claiming them at the same time.
On the banks of the Euphrates find a secret garden cunningly walled. There is an entrance, but the entrance is guarded. There is no way in for you. Inside you will find every plant that grows growing...
Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the...
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
Let me read to you, said Roger Nowell. It is a night for reading.
It is true that words drop away, and that the important things are often left unsaid. The important things are learned in faces, in gestures, not in our locked tongues. The true things are too big or...
Is it failure for morning to become afternoon?
In this life, you have to be your own hero.
If everything I have become were not machine-made I might be able to take the risk of being human with you.
I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not.
I think we are worlds compressed into human form.
I need the dark places to get outside of common sense