Magic in Words

To be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God.

Beauty can both shout and whisper, and still it explains nothing.

Try to find the right place for yourself.

Before, the only thing I was interested in was love, how it grips you, how it terrifies you, how it annihilates and resuscitates you. I didn’t know then that it wasn’t even love that I was interested in, but my own suffering. I thought suffering kept things interesting. How funny that I called it love and the whole time it was pain.

I'm so good at being alone until I remember what it's like to be loved, and then I'm aching all over again.

The person you think of despite their cruelty. The sun and its cruelty. How it’s kept its distance and kept us alive. Not needing to know anything about what we do with the rest of desire.

I still think about dying. I do think about death. Or a day in childhood when I saw the only place I could live was here. Inside. So whoever wanted me had to come through the body. Which has rarely been beautiful to me.

I promise you, I was here. I felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air—and I went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

Sparks die in me only to be reborn as thunder and lightning. Darkness itself glows in me.

Why don't I commit suicide? Because I am as sick of death as I am of life.

Why write love poetry in a burning world?

This is love. It is a mass of ice melting. I can't hold it and I have nowhere to put it down.

Alone is the star I follow. In love & in solitude: alone is the home with the warmest glow.

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.

It is no longer bitterness, nor contempt, nor even fear of uncertainty only a thirst . . . a thirst for something unknown that kills me.

Sometimes there’s only a hint, a possibility. What’s magical, sometimes, has deeper roots than reason. I hope everyone knows that.

I was born inside the folds of lilac, grew up on an orbit of lightning, and now live between light and grass. I storm and I waken, I gleam and cloud, I rain and snow. The hours are my language and daylight is my homeland.