A Poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness, and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
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— Stevie Edwards, from “Good Grief.”
[Text ID: I am not good with fragile things, but I swear I will love all that you unearth for me—your stinted roots, all the tender you’ve long buried.]
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— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “I am praying again, Awesome One.”
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“Caring too much for objects can destroy you. Only—if you care for a thing enough, it takes on a life of its own, doesn’t it? And isn’t the whole point of things—beautiful things—that they connect you to some larger beauty?”
― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
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Can we bring back love letters?
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wet evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh
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tbh i’d rather be in the gardens of Versailles rn
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“Something in you pacifies me. You’ve always had that power over me – part of you pacifies, another terrifies. How do I get sick of that? I will never get sick of that.”
— Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin featured in A Literate Passion: Letters Of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller (1932 - 1953)
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Emily Dickinson, from The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
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I hope in another world, we got over our deranged doubts and others' twisted opinions.
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I won't. I won't ever confess I'm home sick. Or guilty. Broken.
I'm homesick, guilty and broken.
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“I will hallucinate your halos, your holiness.”
— Meena Kandasamy, from Mrs Sunshine
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