"forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit"

a joy it will be one day, perhaps, to remember even this

[soracities]

e.e. cummings, “in the rain” (from Tulips), Complete Poems: 1904-1962

[Text ID: “a single star is uttered,and i

think           of you”]

[metamorphesque]

—  Richard Siken, Boot Theory

[text ID: A man takes his sadness and /  throws it away / but then he’s still left with his / hands.]

[geryone]

Each Crumbling House, Melody S. Gee

[metamorphesque]

— Vladimir Mayakovsky, A Cloud in Trousers

[thegirlthatcriesacademia]

Time is nothing.

Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveller's Wife //Illustration by Lesley Imgart

[jiangwanyin]

— vladimir nabokov, in a letter to his wife [24 march 1937] from letters to véra (trans. olga voronina & brian boyd)

[httpcottagewitch]

best piece of advice I’ve received in awhile ❤️

[stavroginas]

Frank O'Hara, Selected Poems; "Animals"

[faunary]

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Images

[ID: But it was terrible in those first days. / My entire body was a wound. The world / that blooms and ripens in things / had been torn out of me with its roots / with my heart (it seemed)]

[saintmelangell]

I know he doesn’t love me. How could he love me? And yet something deep inside me can’t help trembling with fear to think that maybe, in spite of everything, he loves me.

Simone Weil, “Prologue” from La connaissance surnaturelle (my own translation)

[weltenwellen]

Mary Oliver, from "Starlings in Winter", Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

[derangedrhythms]

He's clever, this man, he feels what I am thinking.

Jean Rhys, from 'Good Morning, Midnight'

[soracities]

Walter Benjamin, from “One Way Street” (tr. Edmund Jephcott), Selected Writings, Vol I: 1913-1926

[Text ID: “The only way of knowing a person is to love that person without hope.”]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“He told her to look at a clear sky whenever she began to doubt him, for the stars meant every way he loved her.”

— Greg Sellers, journal entry, “Notes from Neruda’s Ghost,” 30 April 2022

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

"I saw eternity the other night," wrote Henry Vaughan in a daring line. Whether he saw it or not, I hereby send the poet my utmost respect. This line of his appears indisputable, mainly because, as Celan would say, nobody bears witness for the witness. The syntactic crack of the whip recalls the unforgettable ending of the movie Blade Runner when the character who's about to die begins his poetic sermon with the tremulous, moving and very true "I've seen…"

– Enrique Vila-Matas, Never Any End to Paris

[weltenwellen]

Adonis, tr. by Khaled Mattawa, Selected Poems

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“How seldom we can see our way to say what we love.”

— Richard Jackson, from “Elegy Along a Line of Sight,” The Heart as Framed: New and Select Poems (Press 53, 2022)