Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
She suffers according to the digits of my hate. I hear the filaments of alabaster. I would lie down with them and lift my madness off like a wig. I would lie outside in a room of wool and let the snow cover me. Paris white or flake white or argentine, all in the washbasin of my mouth, calling “Oh.” I am empty. I am witless. Death is here. There is no other settlement.
Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
sorrow is easier than guilt.
Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
Death's in the good-bye.
Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
I have been cut in two.
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: