January 11, 2016, 8:11 pm
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“I still look at the moon” 


November 1, 2015, 5:53 pm
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“I’m having one of those moments right now.. one of those moments when everything is so perfect and so wonderful that you almost feel sad because nothing can ever be this good again.”

Happy Anniversary ♡
October 6, 2015, 7:09 am
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“How can I explain to you, my happiness, my golden wonderful happiness, how much I am all yours — with all my memories, poems, outbursts, inner whirlwinds? Or explain that I cannot write a word without hearing how you will pronounce it — and can’t recall a single trifle I’ve lived through without regret — so sharp! — that we haven’t lived through it together — whether it’s the most, the most personal, intransmissible — or only some sunset or other at the bend of a road — you see what I mean, my happiness?

And I know: I can’t tell you anything in words — and when I do on the phone then it comes out completely wrong. Because with you one needs to talk wonderfully, the way we talk with people long gone… in terms of purity and lightness and spiritual precision… You can be bruised by an ugly diminutive — because you are so absolutely resonant — like seawater, my lovely.

I swear — and the inkblot has nothing to do with it — I swear by all that’s dear to me, all I believe in — I swear that I have never loved before as I love you, — with such tenderness — to the point of tears — and with such a sense of radiance.”

-Vladimir Nabokov

August 28, 2015, 8:46 pm
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I’m going to be defending someone else for the rest of my life, and it’s not scary. Just this once I’m not overwhelmed.


July 20, 2015, 9:25 pm
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“I’m not surprised you have a favorite part.. you have a favorite part of anything that has to do with words”

Married Love -Kuan Tao-sheng
May 24, 2015, 8:34 pm
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You and I

Have so much love,

That it

Burns like a fire,

In which we bake a lump of clay

Molded into a figure of you

And a figure of me.

Then we take both of them,

And break them into pieces,

And mix the pieces with water,

And mold again a figure of you,

And a figure of me.

I am in your clay.

You are in my clay.

In life we share a single quilt.

In death we will share one bed.

Harmony in the Boudoir -Mark Strand
May 22, 2015, 9:40 am
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After years of marriage, he stands at the foot of the bed and
tells his wife that she will never know him, that for everything
he says there is more that he does not say, that behind each
word he utters there is another word, and hundreds more be-
hind that one. All those unsaid words, he says, contain his true
self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her.
“So you see,” he says, kicking off his slippers, “I am more than
what I have led you to believe I am.” “Oh, you silly man,” says
his wife, “of course you are. I find that just thinking of you
having so many selves receding into nothingness is very excit-
ing. That you barely exist as you are couldn’t please me more.”