Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Do you seriously think that blood is the only thing in this world that is colored red?
Take this sorrow to thy heart, and make it a part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou art strong again.
... this is how to bully a man; this is a how a man bullies you; this is how to love a man, and if that doesn't work there are other ways, and if they don't work don't feel too bad about giving up; this is how to spit up in the air if you feel like it, and this is how to move quickly so that it doesn't fall on you...
A feeling that everything must end, the music, ourselves, the moon, everything. That if you get to the heart of things you find sadness for ever and ever, everywhere; but a beautiful silver saddness, like a Christ face.
Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.
Sometimes to realize you were well, someone must come along and hurt you.
The universe was a place of wonders, and only habituation, the anaesthesia of the everday, dulled our sight.
In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, "Is it good, friend?" "It is bitter -- bitter," he answered; "But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart."
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