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The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector (tr. Benjamin Moser)

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Frank Bidart, from Half-light: Collected Poems; “Envoi”

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“I plant roots so deeply in the people I love that I always lose a piece of myself when they go.”

— Beau Taplin

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after seeing your friends for a few hours sometimes u walk away and return home with a little ball of glowing golden light in your chest

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The appetisers were delicious, not because of the kitchen, but because all food eaten in anticipation of a kiss is delicious.

-Maggie Stiefvater, The Dream Thieves

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Warsan Shire, from Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head; “Bless This House”

[Text ID: “Mother says there are locked rooms / inside all women. / Sometimes, the men—they come / with keys, / and sometimes, the men— they / come with hammers.”]

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Florence Welch, from Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry; “Maybe it would be fun”

[Text ID: “I tell myself I’m not like that any more / At least I thought I was less savage / I try, I try, I try, I try, I try to do less damage.”]

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Peter Allen Nisbet, ‘Surf at Salvo’ (Oil on canvas), 1995

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Hozier .9

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

-Hozier "Work Song"

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Under the Street Lamp, 1928. Martin Lewis. Etching

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Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals

[Text ID: “Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through.”]

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“‘It hurts exactly as much as it is worth, so in a way one relishes the pain, I think.’ The second part of that sentence […] struck me as unnecessarily masochistic. Now I know that it contains truth. And if the pain is not exactly relished, it no longer seems futile. Pain shows that you have not forgotten; pain enhances the flavour of memory; pain is a proof of love. ‘If it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter.’”

— Julian Barnes, from Levels of Life (Alfred A. Knopf, 2013)

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André Heller Flic Flac 1981

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Alain de Botton, Essays in Love [transcript in ALT]

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Franz Wright, from “Our Conversation” [ID in alt text]

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“Today I forgive myself. Not just once. Again, and again, and again. As many times as it takes to find peace.”

— Unknown

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“God, she had me by the throat, by the hip bone, by the moon. God, she hurt me with my own horns.”

— Natalie Díaz, from The Cure for Melancholy Is to Take the Horn; Postcolonial Love Poem, 2020