I Was Only Time Flowing Through Myself.

For his conversations about action (we have had more than one) are all descriptions of God

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

Make much of me why don't you.

Matthea Harvery, Not So Much Miniature As Far Away

I love her for what she has dared to be, for her hardness, her cruelty, her egoism, her perverseness, her demoniac destructiveness. She would crush me to ashes without hesitation. She is a personality created to the limit. I worship her courage to hurt, and I am willing to be sacrificed to it. She will add me to the sum of her.

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin

green leaves / torn straight from the cross

- Agata Tuszyńska, Faith tr. Regina Grol

Tears are a sign of powerlessness, a ‘woman’s weapon.’ It has been a very long war.

- Heather Christle, The Crying Book

october, mary oliver

For the poet is a light and winged and holy thing,

Plato, Ion tr. Benjamin Jowett

A bird pecks at the corroded corner of the sky

Garous Abdolmalekian, Long Poem of Loneliness tr. Ahmed Nadalizadeh and Idra Novey

To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn't. It should be.

Richard Siken, Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors

There is no question I am someone starving. There is no question I am making this journey to find out what that appetite is. And I see him free of it, as if he had simply crossed to the other side of the bridge, I see desire set free in him like some ray of mysterious light. Now tell me the truth, would you cross that bridge if you came to it? And where, if you made the grave choice to give up bread, would it take you?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water