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There’s no such thing as false hope. There’s just hope.
Lottie Matthews, Yellowjackets
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“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
— Leonard Cohen
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We are like children building a sand castle. We embellish it with beautiful shells, bits of driftwood, and pieces of colored glass. The castle is ours, off-limits to others. We're willing to attack if others threaten to hurt it. Yet despite all our attachment, we know that the tide will inevitably come in and sweep the sand castle away. The trick is to enjoy it fully but without clinging, and when the time comes, let it dissolve back into the sea. This letting things go is sometimes called nonattachment, but not with the cool, remote quality often associated with that word. This nonattachment has more kindness and more intimacy than that. It's actually a desire to know, like the questions of a three-year-old. We want to know our pain so we can stop endlessly running. We want to know our pleasure so we can stop endlessly grasping. Then somehow our questions get bigger and our inquisitiveness more vast. We want to know about loss so we might understand other people when their lives are falling apart. We want to know about gain so we might understand other people when they are delighted or when they get arrogant and puffed up and carried away. When we become more insightful and compassionate about how we ourselves get hooked, we spontaneously feel more tenderness for the human race. Knowing our own confusion, we're more willing and able to get our hands dirty and try to alleviate the confusion of others.
Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart
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Carmen Laforet, from Nada
Text ID: My chest was heavy with a thousand daydreams and memories.
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“If my critics saw me walking over the Thames they would say it was because I couldn’t swim.”
— Margaret Thatcher
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“Whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun, or the nights you collapse into my lap, your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
— Mouthful of Forevers by Clementine von Radics
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Terrified again of not loving of loving and not you of being loved and not by you.
Samuel Beckett, Cascando.
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“Music Master”
You that love lovers,
this is your home. Welcome!
In the midst of making form, love
made this form that melts form,
with love for the door,
soul the vestibule.
Watch the dust grains moving
in the light near the window.
Their dance is our dance.
We rarely hear the inward music,
but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless,
directed by the one who teaches us,
the pure joy of the sun,
our music master.
When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute,
so we can cry out with loving.
You would rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror, and here are the stones
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— Frank Bidart, from “Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016; ‘The Third Hour of the Night’", published c. 2017
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Pedro Salinas, tr. by Ruth Katz Crispin, from Memory in My Hands: The Love Poetry of Pedro Salinas; “The voice I owe to you”
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I wanted to be something else. Myself, but better. Wild, and not-yet, a burn, maybe as it is occurring.
— Cynthia Cruz, from “Fragment,” Hotel Oblivion
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https://www.instagram.com/p/CbXBZ0qNi0K/?utm_medium=copy_link
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