“something is eating away at me with splendid teeth”
— Gwendolyn MacEwen, from “Memoirs of a Mad Cook,” The Armies of the Moon (Macmillan, 1972)
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“something is eating away at me with splendid teeth”
— Gwendolyn MacEwen, from “Memoirs of a Mad Cook,” The Armies of the Moon (Macmillan, 1972)
Alicia Mountain, “Spit Shine with Real Spit”
Xtian W, “We Have Always Been”
Reginald Dwayne Betts “BALLAD OF THE GROUNDHOG”
Yrsa Daley-Ward, “community”
Milo Gallagher, “No Funeral”
“I am happy on the outside, but inside something gnaws at me; some presentiment, anxiety, dreams—or sleeplessness,—melancholy, indifference,—desire for life, and the next instant, desire for death: some kind of sweet peace, some kind of numbness, absent-mindedness; and sometimes definite memories worry me. My mind is sour, bitter, salt; some hideous jumble of feelings shakes me! I am stupider than ever.”
— Frédéric Chopin
aug 4, 2021 / christina hopp
there was a time when I wore
my skin, I didn't mind the mark
I made, the natural instinct to exist
wasn't a burden. I don't know
when it stopped. if I was beautiful,
I wouldn't have to laugh so hard,
want so much. I remember holding
myself, swearing I'd learn what it is
like to touch love. the known truth
when I was created: I'm a fragile thing
and I make myself sick with it.
there must be some space left for me
somewhere, a place to be treated
more delicate. I haven't made peace
with this body, I have yet to touch love,
this undesirable, this ugly, absorbs the
impact, takes the blow with stride,
but I swear by my oath with a lifted
hand, I know the prayer even after
losing faith, and the beaten wound
fills with the hope of it all.
Jane Austen, Persuasion.
“When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it. When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *academical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on. But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it. And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.”
— Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via raggedybearcat)
hello lovely, i was wondering if there were any quotes or passages about the sun? or comparing one to the sun
☀️🧡
“You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun.”
— Shauna Barbosa, “GPS”
“If I’m a pagan of the good times / My lover’s the sunlight”
— Hozier, “Take Me to Church”
“In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun.”
— Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body
“yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: yours is the darkness of my soul’s return –-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars.”
— E.E. Cummings, “silently if, out of not knowable”
“As long as the sun exists, your name will exist.”
— from a wall relief on the West Wall in the Chapel of Rameses I
“There are souls that you feel to lean forward to, like a sun-filled window.”
— Federico García Lorca, source unknown
“Your belly the sun, / sun in the water, / sun-water in the earthen jar, sunflower seed I planted in my chest…”
— Octavio Paz, “A Tale of Two Gardens”
“Her Spanish sounds like sunlight drying a wet shirt. And in the process, I’ve grown fond of her.
She’s delicadeza, a word that names her nature. Whose dream deepens in the rain? Whose hair is lilacs?”
— Eugene Gloria, “The Verb To Lick”
“And even if they don’t find what they’re looking for, isn’t it enough to be out walking together in the sunlight?”
— Jess Walter, Beautiful Ruins
“You are sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed.”
— Jessie Burton, The Miniaturist
She was a pure spirit, easily susceptible to emotion; one moment she’d be crying, the next laughing, like sunshine after a shower.
— Gustave Flaubert, in a letter to Louise Colet
“The sun comes out of your body like a fruit.”
— Homero Aridjis, Blue Spaces
I had been lost to you, sunlight And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight, oh But it is sunlight
— Hozier, “Sunlight”
“Is it love, the way you toss your head and create the sun?”
— Stimie
“If you are the rising sun / I am the road of blood.”
— Octavio Paz, “Motion”
“And there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman I love.”
— Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”
“Oh, your hair is red-gold, red-gold, your skin is like–sunlight on snow--”
— Tennessee Williams, “The Mutilated”
“He smiled, and his face was like the sun.”
— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
“The first summer was pure happiness. We were making Persona on the island; it was hot. I was experiencing another human being, he was experiencing me, and we didn’t need to talk about it. I was barefoot in the sand so fine it was as if it breathed beneath my feet. I never wondered what might come of our relationship. It was as if I were living within soft walls of sunlight and desire and…happiness.”
— Liv Ullman on Ingmar Bergman,Liv & Ingmar
“When to me you leap and I’m born we ’re sunlight of oneness”.
— E.E. Cummings, “XLIX”
“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
— Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
But then you came back again: as sun on water. I reached for you, skimmed my hands over the light of you.”
— Nicole Callihan, “The End of the Pier”
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.”
— William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
“Lovers alone wear sunlight”
— E.E. Cummings, “unlove’s the heavenless hell and homeless home”
“How slow life is, How violent hope is.”
— Guillaume Apollinaire, from “Mirabeau Bridge,” Alcools (Doubleday, 1965)
“I know where you are with my eyes closed, we are bound to each other, we are bound to each other with huge invisible threads …”
— Sharon Olds, Stag’s Leap: Poems
Callista Buchen “Quick Change”
Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights
Sculpture by Pio Fedi (1815–1892) | Photo by Frank Huiskamp.