Her Voice, My Voice -Oscar Wilde
April 20, 2017, 10:39 am
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Her Voice

The wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
I made that vow,

Swore that two lives should be like one
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,—
It shall be, I said, for eternity
’Twixt you and me!
Dear friend, those times are over and done,
Love’s web is spun.

Look upward where the poplar trees
Sway and sway in the summer air,
Here in the valley never a breeze
Scatters the thistledown, but there
Great winds blow fair
From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,
And the wave-lashed leas.

Look upward where the white gull screams,
What does it see that we do not see?
Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams
On some outward voyaging argosy,—
Ah! can it be
We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!
How sad it seems.

Sweet, there is nothing left to say
But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
And so we may.

And there is nothing left to do
But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
I have my beauty,—you your Art,
Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
Like me and you.

My Voice

Within this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.



Love, Defined -Tom Stoppard
July 29, 2015, 5:54 am
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“Knowledge of each other, not of the flesh but through the flesh, knowledge of self, the real him, the real her, in extremis, the mask slipped from the face…”



& another
August 11, 2014, 7:43 pm
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“Love, being in love, isn’t a constant thing. It doesn’t always flow at the same strength. It’s not always like a river in flood. It’s more like the sea. It has tides, it ebbs and flows. The thing is, when love is real, whether it’s ebbing or flowing, it’s always there, it never goes away. And that’s the only proof you can have that it is real, and not just a crush or an infatuation or a passing fancy.” — Aidan Chambers

this quote changed me. CHANGED ME. sometimes i feel like i’m not “in it” to the point where i should be, or not “enough” like his enough, or am left wondering why i am thinking about other things, like what to eat for lunch, when maybe i should be thinking about him, and how maybe he’s hungry. but this quote is the truth. we ebb. we flow. but it’s constant AND THAT’S PERFECT.



Food of Love -CAROLYN KIZER
June 2, 2014, 2:11 pm
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I’m going to murder you with love;
I’m going to suffocate you with embraces;
I’m going to hug you, bone by bone,
Till you’re dead all over.
Then I will dine on your delectable marrow.

You will become my personal Sahara;
I’ll sun myself in you, then with one swallow
Drain your remaining brackish well.
With my female blade I’ll carve my name
In your most aspiring palm
Before I chop it down.
Then I’ll inhale your last oasis whole.

But in the total desert you become
You’ll see me stretch, horizon to horizon,
Opulent mirage!
Wisteria balconies dripping cyclamen.
Vistas ablaze with crystal, laced in gold.

So you will summon each dry grain of sand
And move toward me in undulating dunes
Till you arrive at sudden ultramarine:
A Mediterranean to stroke your dusty shores;
Obstinate verdure, creeping inland, fast renudes
Your barrens; succulents spring up everywhere,
Surprising life! And I will be that green.

When you are fed and watered, flourishing
With shoots entwining trellis, dome, and spire,
Till you are resurrected field in bloom,
I will devour you, my natural food,
My host, my final supper on the earth,
And you’ll begin to die again.



The History of Love
May 26, 2014, 7:38 pm
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re-reading a favorite, “…An average of seventy-four species become extinct every day, which was one good reason but not the only one to hold someone’s hand…” -Nicole Krauss



WITH THAT MOON LANGUAGE -Hafiz
May 23, 2014, 10:32 pm
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Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud; Otherwise, someone would call the cops.

 Still though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

 Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that sweet moon language, what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?



& remember
November 11, 2013, 6:08 pm
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  • Love is all about sacrifice and doing for one another, but those sacrifices can’t be made in secret at the start of a relationship and then whipped out as a debt to be paid.
  • Don’t walk into a commitment with expectations of change. This is it. This is who you’re going to commit to. If that’s not good enough, shut up and get going.