[mutable-wings]

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals The power of your intense fragility.

— E. E. Cummings, from "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond"

[bluewillowmoon]

“There's nothing

left to hold onto. Never was. Though I felt it,

though I thought I could, though I believed

you were mine. Though I borrowed you. Though

we borrowed each other. Though we own nothing.”

— Catherine Esposito Prescott, from “Meditation on Blue,” from SUPERBLOOM (Gunpowder Press, 2026)

[mutable-wings]

And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from "You Who Never Arrived," translated by Stephen Mitchell

[mutable-wings]

Who knows? perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening...

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from "You Who Never Arrived," translated by Stephen Mitchell

[mutable-wings]

Oh why is heaven built so far, Oh why is earth set so remote?

— Christina Rossetti, from "De Profundis"

[mutable-wings]

They knew not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well— Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.

— George Gordon Byron, from "When We Two Parted"

[mutable-wings]

Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.

— William Shakespeare, from The Tempest

[mutable-wings]

I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness.

— Walt Whitman, from "Song of the Open Road"

[mutable-wings]

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air.

— William Shakespeare, from The Tempest

[mutable-wings]

And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. I would not change it.

— William Shakespeare, from As You Like It

[quotespile]

“It’s impossible to want what I want and in the shape I want it, and share life with others besides. I had to know how to be alone and how to let so much wanting do its work, save me or destroy me…”

— Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch

[mutable-wings]

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

— William Shakespeare, from The Tempest