Quote – That Book Broad

May 17, 2022 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You’d Sing Too

You’d sing too
if you found yourself
in a place like this
You wouldn’t worry about
whether you were as good
as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf
You’d sing

You’d sing
not for yourself
but to make a self
out of the old food
rotting in the astral bowel
and the loveless thud
of your own breathing
You’d become a singer
faster than it takes
to hate a rival’s charm

And you’d sing, darling
You’d sing too

April 8, 2022 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.
—Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s

February 25, 2022 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

In principle and reality, libraries are life-enhancing palaces of wonder.
—Gail Honeyman, Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

February 6, 2022 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

It’s good to be foolish from time to time. It keeps your spirit young.
—Ottessa Moshfegh, Eileen

January 10, 2022 by Anne ♥ 1 Comment

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines (Excerpt)

by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

January 6, 2022 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

We sleep when we don’t love.
—Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

August 27, 2021August 27, 2021 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

She knows that killing a person does almost-invisible things to you; it leaves you arm-linked with death, your head tilted just a degree that way, so that for the rest of your life your shadows mix together.
—Tana French, The Secret Place

August 24, 2021 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Poets Eleven Poem

by Jack Hirschman

Between the page with the heart
and the mind wrestling upon it,

and the ear which later will receive
those limbs of light as perfect harmony,

there’s a stillness whose volume speaks
worlds of words defiant of measure,

treasures of the unsayable, secrets
of the ever-beginning enchantment

and the never-ending gathering
at the lips of the kiss of the poem.

June 30, 2021 by Anne ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If you want something you can have it, but only if you want everything that goes with it, including all the hard work and the despair, and only if you’re willing to risk failure.
—Philip Pullman, Clockwork

That Book Broad

Let's get lit.

Quotes

You’d Sing Too

You’d sing too
if you found yourself
in a place like this
You wouldn’t worry about
whether you were as good
as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf
You’d sing

You’d sing
not for yourself
but to make a self
out of the old food
rotting in the astral bowel
and the loveless thud
of your own breathing
You’d become a singer
faster than it takes
to hate a rival’s charm

And you’d sing, darling
You’d sing too

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines (Excerpt)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Poets Eleven Poem

Between the page with the heart
and the mind wrestling upon it,

and the ear which later will receive
those limbs of light as perfect harmony,

there’s a stillness whose volume speaks
worlds of words defiant of measure,

treasures of the unsayable, secrets
of the ever-beginning enchantment

and the never-ending gathering
at the lips of the kiss of the poem.

You’d Sing Too

You’d sing tooif you found yourselfin a place like thisYou wouldn’t worry aboutwhether you were as goodas Ray Charles or Edith PiafYou’d sing

You’d singnot for yourselfbut to make a selfout of the old foodrotting in the astral boweland the loveless thudof your own breathingYou’d become a singerfaster than it takesto hate a rival’s charm

And you’d sing, darlingYou’d sing too

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I’m Nobody! Who are you?

I’m Nobody! Who are you?Are you – Nobody – too?Then there’s a pair of us!Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!How public – like a Frog –To tell one’s name – the livelong June –To an admiring Bog!

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Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines (Excerpt)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

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Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

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Like this:

Poets Eleven Poem

Between the page with the heartand the mind wrestling upon it,

and the ear which later will receivethose limbs of light as perfect harmony,

there’s a stillness whose volume speaksworlds of words defiant of measure,

treasures of the unsayable, secretsof the ever-beginning enchantment

and the never-ending gatheringat the lips of the kiss of the poem.

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

You’d sing too
if you found yourself
in a place like this
You wouldn’t worry about
whether you were as good
as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf
You’d sing

You’d sing
not for yourself
but to make a self
out of the old food
rotting in the astral bowel
and the loveless thud
of your own breathing
You’d become a singer
faster than it takes
to hate a rival’s charm

And you’d sing, darling
You’d sing too

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Between the page with the heart
and the mind wrestling upon it,

and the ear which later will receive
those limbs of light as perfect harmony,

there’s a stillness whose volume speaks
worlds of words defiant of measure,

treasures of the unsayable, secrets
of the ever-beginning enchantment

and the never-ending gathering
at the lips of the kiss of the poem.