Shut up in public those bloody private wounds.
Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’‘No, what?’ I would say.‘A piece of dust.’Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would sa...
If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a hap...
I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
I am made, crudely, for success.
I am climbing to my freedom, freedom from fear, freedom from marrying the wrong person, like Buddy Willard, just because of sex, freedom from the Florence Crittenden Homes where all the poor girls go...
Clouds pass and disperse.Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?Is it for such I agitate my heart?
And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.
And so I rehabilitate myself - staying up late this Friday night in spite of vowing to go to bed early, because it is more important to capture moments like this, keen shifts in mood, sudden veering o...
For me poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
Fixed stars govern a life
Unless you can be yourself, you won't stay with anyone for long.
…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always have to be that way. We could be together some day for always.' 'Oh, no,' I tol...
What obsession do men have for destruction and murder? Who do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled 'enem...
Tomorrow is another day toward death.
The human mind is so limited it can only build an arbitrary heaven — and usually the physical comforts they endow it with are naively the kind that can be perceived as we humans perceive — nothing mor...
So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.()
O love, how did you get here?--Nick and the Candlestick
Not being perfect hurts.