the words

I don’t want to love like a woman or feel like a woman; there’s pain that way, and suffering, and misery that can last a lifetime. I didn’t bargain for this; I don’t want it.

Now it is September and the web is woven. The web is woven and you have to wear it.

June’s edge. The sun is turning kind.

Life is always frightful. We cannot help it and we are responsible all the same.

The poets sang beautifully how roses fade and petals fall. The moment is brief they sang; the moment is over; one long night is then to be slept by all.

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.

I see everyone and no one in myself.

You must remember always to give, of everything you have. You must give foolishly even. You must be extravagant. You must give to all who come into your life. Then nothing and no one shall have power to cheat you of anything, for if you give to a thief, he cannot steal from you, and he himself is then no longer a thief. And the more you give, the more you will have to give.

In me, something is broken. I try over and over again to understand what happened.

Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.

There is only emptiness here. Here and everywhere, and each and every time.

You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.

This is what I miss … not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen.

We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it.

We only feel at home when we’re a little bit afraid.

Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know—because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly…and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

Nobody speaks to me. People fall in love with me, and annoy me and distress me and flatter me and excite me and—and all that sort of thing. But no one speaks to me. I sometimes think that no one can. Can you?