seeds of thought

[soracities]

He locks the door, not to seal in his happiness but to free his sorrow.

Adonis, from ‘The Desert’, The Pages of Day and Night (trans. Samuel Hazo)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Although I may not be yours, I can never be another’s.”

— Mary Shelley, from a letter to Percy Bysshe Shelley written c. July 1814

[hourglassofblacktears-deactivat]

Forests have secrets, it’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.

Catherynne M. Valente, ‘Deathless’ (via heathenwoods)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Aching, melting, unafraid.”

— Amy Lowell, from Men, Women & Ghosts; “Figurines in Old Saxe,” c. 1916

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

A goddess of black veils and dark prophesies, a goddess of night sighs.

Velimir Khlebnikov, tr. by Gary Kern, from “The Night Before the Soviets,” (via cleopatrawrites)

[zhugeliangs]

Gentleness (I know) is learned. And unlearned also.

Ange Mlinko, from “Captive”, Distant Mandate (via zhugeliangs)

[zhugeliangs]

Was all love like this, she fretted—a covering, a craft, a transient softness impossible to regrow once shed?

Spindle Fire, Lexa Hillyer, p.335 (via zhugeliangs)

[zhugeliangs]

In the enveloping darkness Some wolf with an edge to his appetite Will come whisper in my ear.

Xu Yunuo (徐玉諾), from “As the Sun Slides Down behind the Mountain”, The Flowering of Modern Chinese Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from the Republican Period, tr. Herbert Batt and Sheldon Zittner (via ghostwithbones)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Let yourself be softened.

Mary Shelley, from “Mathilda,” originally published c. October 1819 (via oiseauperdu)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

there isn’t enough light for this conversation  it’s always starless here

Cynthia Manick, from “#45 Vibrations,” Foundry (no. 4, June 2017)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

She’s a very mysterious creature, with an open smile and a closed soul.

Colette, from a letter to Madame Léopold Marchand c. December 1931

[wnq-writers]

if only i could tell you. how i have lost myself to you.

poetofblues 

[fables-of-the-reconstruction-de]

Diplomacy is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions.

Winston Churchill  (via operationdeitas)

[thelovejournals]

Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running from them.

Nikita Gill (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

It gets misty, the birds sound loud, it smells of irises and then it thunders. I love such summer storms.

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry written c. July 1921 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[soracities]

Autumn approaches and the heart begins to dream–

Bashō, from The Sound of Water: Haiku by Bashō, Buson, Issa, and Other Poets (trans. Sam Hamill with illustrations by Kaji Aso)

[terpsikeraunos]

ἀστέρων πάντων ὀ κάλλιστος - …the loveliest of all stars…

Sappho (Lobel-Page 104b)