I miss her. Acutely. Terribly. It is as though my guide has been taken from me just as I enter the wilderness.
Bertrolt Brecht, from a journal entry written c. November 1939
Etikett: poetry
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Collected Poems; “Oh, Oh, You Will be Sorry for That Word,”
She’s mad, but she’s magic.
Charles Bukowski
“A pretty face, don’t make a pretty heart.”
— Robert Palmer, Bad Case Of Loving You
Yes, I still can breathe, though breath is coming harder, / I still can breathe, but cannot, cannot live.
Fyodor Tyutchev, tr. by Anatoly Liberman, from “Silentium,”
…and the wild eyes — of my lost love —
Edgar Allan Poe, from The Complete Works of E. A. P.; “Ligeia,”
Sometimes I cannot hope. I try always to hope but sometimes I cannot.
Ernest Hemingway, from The Complete Works; “A Farewell To Arms,”
Come, be my love in the wet woods, come,
Robert Frost, from The Complete Poems; “A Line-Storm Song,”
“—I have a childlike heart”
— Sappho, Fragments (tr. by Mary Barnard)
“[I was dreaming of you but]
just then
Dawn, in her golden sandals [woke me]”— Sappho, from Sappho: Poems & Fragments (tr. Josephine Balmer)
beberequin 