+ "I loved you on this day. I love this memory."
—
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
+ "I look at myself but I’m missing.
I know myself: it’s not me."
—
Fernando Pessoa, from “O cat playing in the street…” (January 1931), in Fernando Pessoa-Himself, translated by Richard Zenith
+ "With every goodbye, you learn"
—
Victoria A. Shoffstall, from “After a While”
+ "It is in these moments of tender and ridiculous nostalgia that I know something inside me is still broken."
—
Steve Almond(Source: dormio, via huong1952)
+
At the Edge
Sometimes, behind the lines
Of words giving voice to the blue wind
That blows across the amber fields
Of your years, whispering the hungers
Your dignity conceals, and the caves
Of loss opening along shores forgotten
By the ocean, you almost hear the depth
Of white silence, rising to deny everything.
— John O’Donohue, in Conamara Blues, with thanks to apoetreflects
+ "
If I never see you again
I will always carry you
inside
outside
on my fingertips
and at brain edges
and in centers
centers
of what I am of
what remains.
"
—
Charles Bukowski, from a letter to Katherine, 25th January 1976(Source: larmoyante, via vitt-och-natt)
+ "And then we cowards
who loved the whispering
evening, the houses,
the paths by the river,
the dirty red lights
of those places, the sweet
soundless sorrow—
we reached our hands out
toward the living chain
in silence, but our heart
startled us with blood,
and no more sweetness then,
no more losing ourselves
on the path by the river—
no longer slaves, we knew
we were alone and alive."
—
Cesare Pavese(Source: poetryfoundation.org)
+ "All that’s left is an absence that’s like a hollow space."
—
Haruki Murakami, from Kafka on the Shore, trans. Philip Gabriel, with thanks to windburns(Source: octobersfalls)
+ "So it’s like this
in mid-word
without good-bye without pathos
with nothing else to correct
with nothing to add…"
—
Anna Kamieńska, opening lines to “In Mid-Word”, in Astonishments, trans. by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon
+ "If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You’ll halt the clock
That syncopates our love."
—
Sylvia Plath, from “Admonition”, posted on the-final-sentence
