Syntaxonomy

I will give you my experience of life in a little pill, sugar-coated by poetry to make it go down

Now sweet, sweet it is through the land to be straying Mid the birds and the blossoms and the beasts of the field; Love mingles with love, and no evil is weighing On thy heart or mine, where all sorrow is healed.

Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

I know of a cure for everything: salt water... in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.

Wrap me in your marrow Stuff me in your bones Sing a mending moan A song to bring you home

Not blossoms but the midnight stars of spring she plucks, And weaves them into garlands for her hair.

In all things there lies beneath the surface an intrinsic beauty which is a reality, and which has always existed in all its brilliance merely waiting to be discovered.

It is not just with his throat that the lark sings, but with his whole being.

How can I explain what this ancient, ridiculous, miraculous rite does to me, when her lips touch mine? What formula could express this whirlwind that clears my soul of everything except her?

And hence, if "L" signifies Love and "D" signifies Death, then L = f(D) –that is, love is a function of death...

She is like a bee: both a sting and honey are inside her.

How do you know that nonsense isn't a good thing? If human nonsense had been nurtured and developed for centuries, just as intelligence has, then perhaps something extraordinarily precious could have come from it.

She comes up close, leans on my shoulder, and we are one, she flows into me and I know: this was the necessary part. I know this with every nerve, with every hair, with every sweet and almost painful beat of my heart. And I submitted to this "necessity" with joy.

All of life in its complexity and beauty is forever minted in the gold of words.

He seemed to be a cloud, capricious and fleeting, always the same, always something else, always diluting himself in the air.