- Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird (Wallace Stevens)
- Mending Wall (Robert Frost)
- Playacting (Kay Ryan)
- Spring (Mary Oliver)
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (T.S. Eliot)
- Shoveling Snow with Buddha (Billy Collins)
- This Is Just to Say (William Carlos Williams)
- To the Stone-Cutters (Robinson Jeffers)
- Friendship After Love (Ella Wheeler Wilcox)
- Song of Myself (Walt Whitman)
“Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly. Let it cut more deep. Let it ferment and season you as few human or even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender, my need of God absolutely clear.”
“Quiet minds can’t be perplexed or frightened,
but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace,
like a clock during a thunderstorm.”
~Robert Louis Stevenson
“And dont give up on love, for fucks sake.”
and the net will appear.
She was getting a little frustrated, almost angry, asking me again why I could get so sad sometimes.
“I get so happy sometimes, too,” I said.
“I know,” she said, “but why not stay that way? Why not be happy all the time, or almost all the time?”
“Because I’m in love with life.”
Her eyes lit up. She thought she had won the argument. She thought there was an argument. “Then as long as you’re alive, you should be happy.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think love works that way.”
I want you to know that you may have once said something very kind to me, or that you may yet someday say something like that, a word or thought that glows as it passes through the air to me, something simple like “Dad always said you were so talented,” or “Your smile makes my brain stop working,” and maybe I will have thanked you, or not, and maybe I will have smiled or otherwise responded in an appropriate way to let you know that I appreciate not just that you felt that way, or that he felt that way, but that you cared enough to share it with me, were brave enough to share it with me, or maybe I will not have responded much at all, but I want you to know that, later, months or years later perhaps, I will stop suddenly and have to sit down in my living room, because the mysterious circuitry of my mind will have recalled to me those words you shared and the feelings behind them, and I will hear them as clearly as if you were sitting here with me, and I will cry, I will have to wipe the tears from my eyes in order to make room for more, because the joy in my heart will not be able to burst out in any other way.