So this is your choice: Salvation by yourself, or salvation together with others-

time is a symptom of love, and love is a symptom of life, and we are a symptom of the story, our last breath written before we took the first

to try to write love is to confront the muck of language; that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive (by the limitless expansion of the ego, by emotive submersion) and impoverished (by the codes on which love diminishes and levels it)

and if anyone had said this was the price i would have agreed to pay it. that surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shaft of recognition. it was worth it. love is worth it

dear thing, in another place, another time, perhaps it could have been better. but the night is long and full of beasts, and we must go a-hunting

i have told you things that i could not say to anyone else. thoughts that have a place in the world outside my mind only because i can say them to you

i don't want to keep what i lived. i don't know what to do with what i lived, i'm afraid of that profound disorder. i don't trust what happened to me. did something happen to me that i, because i didn't know how to live it, lived as something else?

do you get it? sanctity begins at home, in the hands that build and the lives we live and the deaths we die and the worms that eat our bodies. if making something by hand is not worthy of veneration then nothing is

God stubbornly continued to be absent / I stubbornly continued loving

i think i would drink your shadow if you asked me. i would never see the sun again

Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees

you are every dead end I ever ran from and all the love I am looking for

o God, what do i do with all my hungry? all my empty?

He thinks of her and he thinks of how love and loss are a nasty, tangled web. He cannot separate one from the other. Love and anger, he thinks, are also the same

Make a plan and God laughs

you know of me all i can bare to be known

& sure, i'm the monster. sure, i'm the one eating my own heart

Oh my love, call to me with a name that is linked to an old, forgotten tenderness

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant. The starts incline us, they do not bind us

the house shelters daydreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace