Sometimes in my tent, last at night, I think I can hear the stars scraping, against the sky.
In the nineteenth century, The Romantics viewed Nature as benign, a glowing reflection of God's grace. Now we know better. Nature is brutal and, if it is feminine, she's not the kind of woman you can...
I'm a little panicky when I realize he's not here. It's a lot easier to push down my doubt when he's with me. When I can see those eyes the color of melted chocolate and hear his deep voice that falls...
Nothing is more painful than the loneliness of being with someone who is never completely there.
The Great Gatsby's my favorite book, he says. F. Scott Fitzgerald dedicated it to Zelda.His wife? I say.Yeah. His crazy-ass wife who he had no business loving that much, he says, giving me a loaded lo...
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have; for both are infinite. —William Shakespeare
No, I’m talking about the aliens inside our own heads. The ones we made up, the ones we’ve been making up since we realized those glittering lights in the sky were suns like ours and probably had plan...