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“I do not write poetry; I take words and dip them in feelings.”
— Arti Honrao (via thatkindofwoman)

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“You look at me as if you were in me. And you are in me. And outside me. Everywhere.”
— Agustín Gómez-Acros, The Carnivorous Lamb (trans. by William Rodarmor)
“Or, like the poets, are you stimulated by despair, does grief move you to reveal your nature?”
— Louise Glück, “Vespers” from The Wild Iris
“Even in your melancholy hue, you're my brightest blue.”
— via unsentproject

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Joachim Trier - Sentimental Value (2025)
[…] at first I didn’t understand about jealousy, I mean I didn’t understand it could be like madness.
Iris Murdoch, from ‘The Sea, the Sea’
"آملُ أن أموت،
دافئة،
ولو بفتاتٍ من حياة
حاولتُ عيشها".
- نيكي جيوفاني، Nikki Giovanni
Golden light fading into shadows — nature’s softest farewell.
“What was my mad heart dreaming of?”
— Sappho (Stung with Love: Poems and Fragments, trans. Aaron Poochigian)

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Gustaf Wernersson Cronquist (Sverige, 1878 - 1967), 1920
Abraham Mignon, details from A Cat knocking over a vase of flowers, 1806.
Flower & Garden Magazine, August 1968
She writes every day. The lovers in her book say the usual things. Come back to me. Let the rest of the world burn. Only come back to me.
– Kelly Link, The Book of Love

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"تراءى لي ما جرى وكأنما الحياة قد هجرَتها للحظات، تاركةً فيها خواء الموت."