Yet I liked him too much… way too much, and I ripped him out of my heart so it wouldn’t get to hurt me more than it did.
With me, the present is forever and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can’t start over with each new second. You have to judge...
What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can nev...
Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B.Once you were beautiful.
The same thing happened over and over: I would catch sight of some flawless man in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn’t do at all.
The door of the novel, like the door of the poem, also shuts. But not so fast, nor with such manic, unanswerable finality.
Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of ner...
She looks like a woman who has found it ridiculous to commit herself to a single emotional stance in anything, but must always ride high heavy irony.
Reality is what I make it. That is what I have said I believed. Then I look at the hell I am wallowing in, nerves paralyzed, action nullified - fear, envy, hate: all the corrosive emotions of insecuri...
Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark...
Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.
O myHomunculus, I am ill.I have taken a pill to killThe thinPapery feeling.From the poem Cut, 24 October 1962
My mother smiled. I know my baby wasn't like that.I looked at her. Like what?Like those awful people. Those awful dead people at that hospital. She paused. I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
My mind is, to use a disgustingly obvious simile, like a wastebasket full of waste paper; bits of hair, and rotting apple cores. I am feeling depressed from being exposed to so many lives, so many of...
My heartbeat boomed like a dull motor in my ears. I am I am I am.
Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
Mad Girl's Love SongI shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;I lift my lids and all is born again.(I think I made you up inside my head.)The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,And arbitrary blac...
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not-writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy...
I’d discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with a certain arrogance, as if you knew perfectly well you were doing it prop...