“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
Etikett: poetry
“Wish I could sleep till life was done.”
— Ezra Pound, from Complete Works: Plays & Translations; “Odes,”
“I’m ruined by
your voice’s deep
dark lullaby.”— Jo-Ann Leon, from Poems of a Useless Love (1989); “Defence,” (via loveage-moondream)
“My God, does love ever die? I ask, and will die asking.”
— Anaïs Nin, from Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939 (via anenlighteningellipsis)
“I craved him constantly, so deeply it was a physical ache”
— Sylvia Day (via lepetitchatblanc)
To make her happy, I would invent God if I had to.
Marguerite Duras, from “The Ravishing of Lol Stein,” published c. 1964
Passionate. Innocent. She resembled all this fresh summer enchantment.
Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, from The Selected Works; “The Mountain Cornel,”
“(…) I want to live inside
your voice, your strange accent, your shadow.”— Zeina Hashem Beck, from Khandaq Mon Amour in “Louder Than Hearts: Poems”
(via adrasteiax)
Love, love, catastrophe.
Pedro Salinas, tr. by Ruth Katz Crispin, from “The Voice I Owe To You,”
“June was white. I see the fields white with daisies, and white with dresses; and tennis courts marked with white. Then there was wind and violent thunder. There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, “Consume me". That was at midsummer.”
— Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via berthemorisot)
beberequin 