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I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.
Nicholas Ray (In A Lonely Place)
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I don’t think I could love you so much if you had nothing to complain of and nothing to regret. I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and of little value. Life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them.
Boris Pasternak (Doctor Zhivago)
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The moon likes secrets. And secret things. She lets mysteries bleed into her shadows and leaves us to ask whether they originated from otherworlds, or from our own imaginations.
Charles de Lint
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Promise me you’ll never forget me because if I thought you would, I’d never leave.
A.A. Milne
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She knew that every inflexion of her voice, every gesture, every characteristic of her person— its very defects, the fact that her forehead was too high, that her eyes were not large enough, that her hands, though slender, were not small, and that fingers did not taper— she knew that these deficiencies were so many channels through which her influence streamed to him; that she pleased him in spite of them, perhaps because of them; that he wanted her as she was, and not as she would have liked to be; and for the first time she felt in her veins the security and lightness of happy love.
Edith Wharton
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I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
Virginia Woolf
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You know when you see something like a marvelous mountain against the blue sky, the vivid, bright, clear, unpolluted snow, the majesty of it drives all your thoughts, your concerns, your problems away. Have you noticed that? You say, ‘How beautiful it is,’ and for two seconds perhaps, or for even a minute, you are absolutely silent. The grandeur of it drives away, for that second, the pettiness of ourselves. That immensity has taken us over. Like a child occupied with an intricate toy for an hour; he won’t talk, he won’t make any noise, he is completely absorbed in that. The toy has absorbed him. So the mountain absorbs you and therefore for the second, or the minute, you are absolutely quiet, which means there is no self. Now, without being absorbed by something - either a toy, a mountain, a face, or an idea - to be completely without the me in oneself, is the essence of beauty.
Jiddu Krishnamurti (On Love and Loneliness)
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I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Like a ripple
that chases the slightest caress
of the breeze—
is that how you want me
to follow you?
Ono no Komachi
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I saw the moon last night for the first time in months
She reminded me of you
Slouching stubborn in the light
I’d fight battles with the sun to rest against you tonight
Andrea Gibson
